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poem submitted to "Rhythm and Rubble" poetry contest, Kerry Bernatchez, sponsor 7/10/2026
A single white rose rests within morning’s murmur~ soft-scented, still, its silken hush shimmering like a shy soul seeking speech. Light leans along its edges, a slow, silver slip of dawn drifting down each petal. The air around it listens, leaning into the low, lilting glow the bloom seems to breathe. I trace its tender spiral~ that subtle swirl of becoming, that circle of calm carved from cold earth and the long, lonely labor of growth. Even the stem holds a quiet strength, a slender spine of green gathering the grace to lift what is luminous from what is lost. And still~ the rose remains a whisper, a white-winged witness to the world’s wandering sorrows. It stands in its soft solitude, shining through the ache, offering only openness, only the fragile faith of unfolding. A single white rose~ a small, steadfast star rooted in soil, rising toward sky, reminding the moment that beauty, even bruised, blooms.
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