When the Daffodils Blossom … and a Corrie Poem

I’ve debated about going off social media completely, including my blog, after taking a break beginning in September 2021.

But there are times when the daffodils blossom.

There are long periods of time when the daffodils go away, but they return for short durations. They come for good reasons. Spring approaches. The weather warms.

More than triggers

Besides avoiding triggers online in connection with the loss of my daughter, Corrie, I had the most success in publishing last year, particularly with poems that I’ve had since 2016. I also submitted more than I had in a long time. Two poems were about Corrie. Both If I Call You Juliet and Six came from her collection, two poems were about education, and then something interesting happened.

The Young Adult novel I started writing in January 2020 with the enthusiasm of Corrie as I read it to her gained some notice in competition. The manuscript made it to a semi-final round in one competition.

Then the work-in-progress, called Rise of the Rinsed, made it to final round of a competition for novels in December.

Triggers aside, I decided that, as an author/ writer, I need focus on this piece of writing for now. I’ve never been in a hurry to become the novelist about which I’ve always dreamed, and I haven’t shared the news above until now because I did not want to come across as bragging. I’ve always worked slow and steady towards that dream.

I’m not on as much, but sometimes there are poems that come to me. I feel like sharing them. This is the name when the daffodils blossom.

WHEN THE DAFFODILS BLOSSOM, CORRIE’S POEM

Wake me in the morning 

to see the daffodils.

See how they bloom

during a time when

lovers bring flowers,

chocolates, and

declare 

a summer day in Paris 

on vacay kind of love 

to one another. 

The daffodils blossom

underneath the tree 

where you’d held your first and

only puppy 

tighter than 

the second lollypop 

you’d take from a

restaurant or the bank

for your brother. 

I took half a dozen roses

to the place where you

sleep, and spread out the

petals on a day when 

lovers bring flowers,

chocolates

and declare

a summer day in Paris 

on vacay kind of love 

to one another. 

Because I love you in 

the rain when the 

daffodils 

no longer blossom. 

On the days 

we fail to see

the eiffel tower 

through the fog, 

the memory of 

your laughter 

would deliver 

an instant 

joy no instacart

could bring.

Sometimes I hear people say,

“Please take some daffodils.

Too many grow in my yard.” 

I think of you dressing in 

your red coat best for a 

Sunday lunch when

family comes from

out of state as you grab

the green watering can,

and say, “Mommy, I

have to water the flowers …”

even in the rain.

I long to grow daffodils, 

roses, lilies, and peach

trees above the place

where you sleep, and 

on the sacred grounds

where you’d race your

brother, and complain

“He never lets me win,”

or “He cheated” because

you were on your scooter,

and he was on his bike.

I’d name every lily: Cora-lily, 

and whisper your name to

every daffodil that grows

underneath the tree where 

you held your first and only

puppy.  Wake me in the 

morning to see the daffodils. 

I know soon the flowers 

in your garden will 

begin to bloom, and I’ll 

whisper Cora-lily for 

all the joy you bring.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

All words and poetry are copyrighted and the property of R.T. Dickinson, 2022.