a poem: unfurling

not quite winter, not yet spring

Painting: Mother and Child (Detail from “The Three Ages of Woman” c. 1905) by Gustav Klimt

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Unfurling

It is winter 
a seed lays in the ground
waiting for the right time
the right place 
to make her move

wandering through the dormant garden
I place my hand on my blooming belly
foraging a wreath of fallen pine and fern
the moon changes shape
my body, swollen

over the course of one night
a violet blossoms
eyes, deep blue
sipping on that sweet nectar of spring
gifting me flowers

of borrowed time.