Consider the Christmas Cactus

At the end of flat columns
of beetle-ish leaves,
an Advent swell
of pale buds.

* * *

After all this waiting (a month or more!),
a crinkled tip of petal, like an egg tooth,
at the blossom's farthest end.

* * *

Full unfurling--
a snapping of sails, a whole flock
of mythical birds--wings over wings
in the many-wavéd light.
 

Christmas Cactus 5

The grace flowers bloom
whether I ask them or not,
whether I notice or not.
Their red wings swell, unfurl,
shrivel around precious seed
day by day atop my desk.
Luscious color crowns
a desert presence, unperturbed
by hints of sharp darkness rolling in.

Take a moment to contemplate
the red winging, the pink fairy tip
within each flower;
take a moment for noticing--
and let the rest . . .
rest.

Christmas Cactus 4

Today's developments:

Christmas Cactus 3

The earliest blossom--nearly unfurled today

Christmas Cactus 2

Solomon walked his halls
in robes that took
Queen Sheba's breath away--
fruit of wisdom folded, threaded,
dyed and scented into
every servant's tunic, every drapery
hung in his much-blessed hall.

There is wisdom, too, in my
one room--wrapped, round and round
in waxy pink petals--now,
like some heavenly fledgling,
unfolding daily its brilliant angles,
its many cadmium wings.

We hold these miracles
in pots on desks and dressers
(we common folk). Dandelion suns
embellish our ditches. Buttercups
curl through fallen fencing.
Poinsettias drape their
festive fire at isle ends
of sanctuaries and Walmarts.
" . . . not Solomon in all his glory,"
oh, you beloved little ones holding
a hard green bud of faith.

Christmas Cactus 1

Under an east window, my mother's Christmas cactus blooms every Thanksgiving. The plant rests on a highchair that held my grandpa when he was an infant. The gray paint on the chair's skillfully carved wood is alligatored in places, the odd confluence of age and infancy creating the perfect place to house winter flowers. And what flowers they are! Each double-tiered, coral-red and pearl-white blossom suspends from the tip of a flat green branch like an exotic bird taking flight or a tropical fish floating in a hidden nook of ocean.

Mom claims no green thumb for fussy house plants, and this remarkable specimen appears to thrive with minimal tending, so these twin facts encouraged me last year to pick up my own small Christmas cactus from the local Aldi. I brought it home and poured a generous bottle of water over its soil, which appeared parched from adverse grocery store conditions. To my disappointment, the few promising pink buds soon shriveled or dropped from my plant's green arms. I began to suspect this plant required more than I originally assumed.

Trusty google soon revealed my mistake. Deeply watering a Christmas cactus in bud results in the buds dropping off. Also, Christmas cactus plants have a number of preferences and requirements in order to thrive, and especially, to flower--requirements which Mom accidentally met. A saucer of water nearby to make the surrounding air moist? Grandpa's highchair sits by the kitchen sink. Strong, but indirect light? The east window is sheltered by the back porch, and other windows nearby keep the kitchen sunny. Plenty of darkness at night with no artificial light? The miles of fields outside the window won't interrupt the natural shortening of daylight that brings on blossoms.

For people in an Urban environment, the internet advised, it is necessary to put the plant away in a closet at a proscribed time each night, so that lamp and street light don't effect the cactus's rhythm. This sounded like too much to me, at the time. I did vaguely hope, at least, to keep my little plant alive until such a time as I got my life into enough order that I could manage to put a plant to bed every night. I entertained misty visions of of long strings of tranquil evenings where I steadfastly followed a routine of tidying up, reading, tucking the plant into its perfect spot in the closet, and going to bed in good time myself.

A few weeks ago, I noticed small green growths at the ends of several of my Christmas cactus's dusty arms. It seemed to be growing, at least, in the midst of my less-than-perfect conditions. As the growths continued to swell, they took on decidedly bud-like proportions. A hint of pink appeared at the tip of the largest bud. It was actually a tiny, curled up blossom! My plant is trying to flower! Despite my shortcomings, this scrappy bit of joy is bringing its own gifts to my home this Christmas. I find this wonderful. I take it as a sign of grace.