It was brought to Bethlehem
in a paper cup.
Grown in Jack’s kindergarten room
overseen by children
with sunflower faces.
Together we planted it
by the new fence where it
could have room.
My hope was humble for success.
Rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks
made forays here.
Nothing was sacred.
All was meant to be eaten,
if it could be eaten,
so a guard of wire was put around it.
A prayer was recited
as stars came out.
Each day a new leaf grew
was cause for celebration,
and days went on.
We watered it.
Praised it.
Remarked on its tallness,
only inches high,
and I added more wire,
more obstructions, to
safeguard its precious destiny,
until one day,
it was tall as Jackie was.
It raised green hands to heaven.
Waltzed in the wind,
and overgrew my height by feet
to the top of a ten foot trellis.
Now it shines with a crown of yellow,
a center of gold,
a calligraphy of petals,
and Jackie and Michael
pose beneath it,
with the faith the innocent
have in glory.
The sunflower in a paper cup,
nursling grown into seraphim.
Papa smiling,
a laugh of joy inside me,
a flower given to my boys
from God.