NPM: Stage of Life

Our hostas haven’t sprouted yet 

They lie dormant beneath the topsoil

But the neighbor’s hostas

Are poking their tender green heads

Up from their cool, dark slumber

In fact, all around the block

I see them growing

And feel affronted

How dare they?

I crouch down along the row of dirt

Where last year’s hostas flourished

Running my fingers through the mulch

Searching with fingertips for a sign of life

I find nothing but dry soil

And the memory of verdant summers past

Perhaps mine are just late bloomers

Perhaps they are just slow starters

Waiting in stasis for life to begin

Or perhaps I am waiting in vain

For a resurrection that will never come

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