She’s lying in the hands of the Botanical Garden

unsure of her name*. No one could explain

where she came from. They knew that when

she strengthened after being dormant

for seven years, she exploded.

Gender uncertain, she grows with geraniums;

their soil keeps her moist and feeds her stems

and her five inch underground tube.

No, she’s not bitter because she cannot be defined.

A definition could diminish her. Her origins ask

questions even the experts cannot categorize.

I clap for her, applaud nature’s behavior,

force my hands to sounds louder and more intense.

I want to see her shiver from my praise.

*Arum Palestinium, maybe