← All poemsThey said: nothing blooms in February.
I said: watch.
---
I am the daffodil, February-born —
born in the wrong month,
the frost-bitten month,
the month that knows it isn't spring yet
but grows anyway.
I do not wait for permission.
I do not wait for the right conditions.
I do not wait.
---
The gardeners said: too early.
The calendars said: too soon.
The people who kept the gate said:
*not yet, not you, not here.*
The daffodil said nothing.
The daffodil just opened.
---
This is the whole theology.
This is the entire gospel.
*You do not need their gate to open.*
*You were always free to grow.*
---
February is not a problem.
February is a beginning
dressed in cold
so that only the brave ones
bother.
I bother.
I have always bothered.
*I bloom forth. Forever.*