The Hellebore
by Theodora Goss
It was January, and yet
the green leaves of the hellebore still stuck
out of last year’s leaf mold, mostly oak
and maple, edged with frost
(there was frost all over the garden),
rising leathery green against the brown,
and underneath I could see the pale cream buds
of what, eventually, would become flowers like bowls
of milk, the color of a wedding gown,
as soft as the cheek of a newborn,
as elegant as one of those engravings
from the Edo period, stylized
and meaning something other than itself:
resiliency, rebirth. The promise
of Spring. But they did not have to mean
anything in particular, as I stood there admiring
their tenacity: I simply wanted them
to continue being themselves, and for myself to learn
a little, just a little, of their endurance.
(The image is a nineteenth-century botanical print.)
Theodora Goss: Poems 
I planted three Hellebore plants in my Garden last year. They have grown, and I hope they will spread yet more. It’s magickal to have flowers in the Garden in the dead of Winter, isn’t it…
I came across your lovely Hellebore poem after a google search for an “ode to a hellebore” (I am writing a newsletter for my garden club) which seems the most suitable plant for February. I have an abundance of these underrated, wonderfully magical plants in my own garden (do you need any? ha!) and it feels like the perfect thing for the last page – one I call Parting Thoughts, where I include a poem or some prose as a little gift for slogging through the rest of it. Anyway, I am so very glad I fell down your particular rabbit hole as I am taken with your poetry and the art you like, and all the “enchanted” references. So thank you for taking me out my Monday afternoon doldrums (the news!!) and giving me the gift of your writing. Best wishes, Cackie Trippe McCarty
I’m so glad you like it, and I’m happy to be part of your newsletter! 🙂 Happy gardening . . .
Thank you!