Blossoming
for my son
Deer love to eat the soft leaves and tender bark
of this lilac we planted for you two years past.
A scraggly thing, its branches consumed—
save a few tips of scrappy green.
It has no chance for blossoming.
Part of me yearns for purple scent,
heady and sweet, full green foliage.
The other part savors this thin trunk of you,
how your lean-muscled body fits snug
in the bowl of my arms.
Someday, celebrating your flowering,
this lilac, so gangly, so sparse,
will have deepened its roots and grown enough blooms
to spare a generous bouquet for the table.
How I will hate to enjoy it alone.