Tulips on the Windowsill

There are two bunches of them
Tulips, I mean
Swaying in the afternoon breeze.
They came to let me know
He is thinking of me
Across the miles
Across the years.
They were tightly closed when they arrived.
Buffered against the elements by cardboard
And careful packing.
But today they are gradually opening
Letting in the light
Letting in the warm breeze.

They make me think of him,
The tulips, I mean.
As a baby he was tightly wrapped
And as he grew he opened
His thoughts, emotions, and yes, tantrums.
And then he began to close slightly,
Like the tulips at night
Closing their petals against the evening air
And the dark.
He would close those glimpses into
His emotions and thoughts,
Making his own night.
Protecting him from the elements
Toughening him to the outside.

But now, as the years pass
He opens slightly again.
In passing glimpses, in slow head nods
In small smiles.
It takes a week to see him again as he
Was before and
Then he is gone again
As the petals fall off the tulips
And lay on the windowsill.
Reminding me still of him.