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When the time of year to count our blessings rolls around, we might smile at the thought of our dearest relatives soon gathering again for that classic Norman Rockwell turkey feast. But what is a family, anyway? Jericho poet Zoe Bernstein no doubt includes close friends in her definition of the word, expressing this week her affection and appreciation for the non-familial loved ones who give her sunlight when there is none.
The four lilies
By Zoe Bernstein, 15, of Jericho
If the ground represents society,
we are unblemished –
broken, but in the right ways,
grateful for what has been given to us
even if our dirt is filled with pesticides and ants.
Us four lilies grow on trellises
into everything we are not supposed to be.
Even the sight of us glowing in the sunlight is an act of casual defiance.
I know how much a gardener would like to take a spade to each of us.
To take gold, make him grow symmetrical with perfect golden petals,
trimming them to be round and uniform.
To grab evergreen, force her into a planting pot
and drain the beautiful vibrance from her, turning her a cardstock green.
To nip periwinkle, place her in soil too acidic,
reach down to her blue-black base and yank it out, making her vapid and “nice.”
They wouldn’t even have to touch me to break me, if my lilies were gone.
I would wilt off the vine, crumple to the ground.
The bright red would leach out from my petals, turning me a dull pink.
Sometimes I wonder if they really are lilies –
why they, so beautiful and bright and full of opportunity,
would force themselves up on the trellis with me.
Perhaps they are beautiful marigolds,
or brilliant daffodils, or forget-me-nots in disguise.
But when gold calls me at midnight,
or periwinkle clutches me close,
or evergreen beams up at me,
I know that all four of us are lilies.
And while we each have our own distinct bulbs and petals,
underground our roots are a cluster of confusion, tangling us together to make a beautiful mess.
We are four lilies, but we are one soul.
