The Weight of It

The Weight of It

The tulip my husband salvaged before
the deer realized the strings of their desire.
Every year, the same lonely bulb sprouts
a lemon-yellow song under the cherry tree.
And then, in a day, it’s gone. Not this year.
This year it graced our dining room table
like a ballad. For days we watched the petals
shimmy. First, a bud, then, a blossom—after that,
a stretching of petals, like wings, until
the weight of those wings pulled
the stem into gentle repose.