©2020 by Alice Walker

Every turn around the sun,
Every year on the date of my birth,
No matter where I am
And usually it is the same place,
Wherever I can worship in sunshine,
My gracious Sister of the White Flowers
Finds me.
I look up from whatever Wonder
Is holding me fast,
And there is someone at my gate.
They are holding a bouquet
Of white flowers.
Calla lilies
Frida’s lily,
As I think of  them.
It has been years
Since I saw my Sister
Of the White Flowers
And yet, oddly,
In the vast world
She appears to be
Everywhere. And at all
But in my heart
She is always where last
I saw her.
Down to earth,
Sounding like Sister. Sounding like
Mother.  Sounding like Home.
I thank you, Sister of the White Flowers.
You have ascended like a star,
And few
Have missed your glow.
We marvel, seeing you.
We think: What grace,
And relentless energy
The Ancestors passed
To us!
You are so vast in scope
And yet, here is something
Quiet, small, at my gate.
Fiercely grand in its own way.
Your faithful offering.
You are my Sister, Beloved.
And sacred to me.
My sister of the White Flowers.
Wherever you may be:
Imagine your sister, here,
Happily in Solitude;
Loving you deeply.
Knowing our connection
Is Eternal.
Deeply bowing.
Though no one may
Observe me.
Bowing. Smiling recognition.
Savoring my joy.


February 9, 2020
Careyes, Mexico