Tank Man, Tiananmen Square, 1989
The basil by my window
flowered overnight.
From its very top,
it had grown white petals
the length of my fingernail.
Inside
were four stamens
and a forked pistil
arranged in perfect symmetry.
I did not know a basil
could send forth a flower
as beautiful as this.
I looked at it
with scissors in my hand.
I was there for harvest.
I understood how
a man carrying plastic bags
had been able to stop
a column of tanks,
and as I cut,
why he could not.