Bulbs and Bricks by Kathy T. Camp

Bold bricks, made from mixture

Of moist earth

Formed, shaped for strength

To hold out the cold and keep in the heat

To shelter shivering souls

And wrap them in its protection.

While still moist, yet firm to the touch,

Strong hands gently moved the bricks

Clasping both sides, with thumb

And three fingers,

A seemingly insignificant impression

Is left on the surface.

The aged bricks, worn by wind, rain

Falling branches, hail and maybe even gunfire

Still have strength remaining.

Stack two,

Side by side,

And they will shelter

Lavender, yellow and red

Blooms

In their later years.

The fingerprints

From years past

Are revealed to the builders.

The brick radiates a warmth

And proudly displays the small

Round shapes left by

The man who touched

Her in her youth.

As the printmaker

Reaches for the brick

The tips of his fingers

Rest perfectly

Around the waist

Of the weathered brick.

He gently lifts her,

Dusts her off, notices

A few chips on the edges

But states, “The mixture used

For this brick is the strongest type.

It will withstand many more years

Of pressure. Placed with another strong

Brick, it will make a home

For these six beautiful bulbs.”

The rain falls.

The bulbs soak

And slumber

Till spring.