I plucked you from your vermillion green forest by the sea.
You followed me home wrapped in moist cotton and guilt.
A triangle of soft velvet, you show your white face,
Trillium, you turned crimson today.
How can you be so forgiving and change color for me?
After two weeks, you still stand firm near the forsythia
which has lost yellow flowers ’cause it’s spring.
I ponder the lesson learned stealing from
a natural habitant. Must I forgive myself?
The New York Times reported the deportation of a Mexican woman.
They took her baby.
She fights to recover her boy.
He is two years old.
Uprooted like the trillium, the mother weeps for her son.
Does the forest call out for the stolen trillium?