There is something about a Poinsettia that symbolizes vibrant life. So I have nurtured this plant since it was presented to us as a memorial to Chuck in December. With some of my friends, my husband, much around me dead or dying, I needed something that shouted, "Life."

It is doing very well. Better than I am doing, if I were to be objective.

I hadn't blogged in a long time. We were busy getting ready for the holidays and vacation. Then I was busy recovering from the Vacation That Didn't Happen. Yesterday I was finally able to join my poetry sisters in a meeting, and given a poetry exercise, wrote a poem about this Poinsettia. Although I promised to put it on Facebook, that became a daunting task when I discovered that beginning a new line required special operations. But I can put it in a blog. Blogging will probably be good for me in the sense that journaling is encouraged for those in grief.

Crimson Hope

It's March and my two-foot Poinsettia
flaunts seven dramatic flowers. Today
she preens in front of the fireplace
planning her next move to the patio.
At night I can hear her singing
"Carmen" to my towering fig tree,
which, incidentally, thinks she's
a philistine and a drama queen. I've
thought of putting her in her place,
under the stairs, perhaps in the garage,
but I can't deal with her screams and complaints.