IMPERFECTLY PERFECT

 Nichola Miller


IMPERFECTLY PERFECT

 

Tulips, tight buds of promised perfection.

A gift lovingly proffered.

Tumbled into a vase they fall into a pink bundle of showy beauty.

Point their nose tips skywards.

I marvel at their unashamedly vibrant coral petals.

Admire how they fold and spiral around one another.

Heavenly flowers grace me with their petally presence.

 

Another day, tight tips now blowsy blooms

overblown and overdone.

The arc from perfect youth to loose, unfettered obsolescence already well-travelled.

Soon, I know, for it is the order of things

The perianth will dismantle, one velvety petal following another.

The perfection promised was not long lived

But glorious none the less.

 

This is the order of things, and imperfectly perfect for all that. 

We are all, in each precious moment perfect in our imperfection and is-ness.

Those peachy flowers a salutatory introduction to the transience of our own being.

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