hawaiian spider lily

She reaches arms out,
little spindles, spokes
of a botanical wheel--
tentacles of light
about to explode
into floral fireworks.

In pre-profusion,
mystery yet unfurled,
she's overlooked,
ignored; no one cares
what she might be,
until one day she
bursts forth, emanation
white and star-like,
and then someone
plucks her from her stem
and places her over one ear,
never asking if this astral
adornment might yearn 
for her constellation.

Liz McFadzean

A poem has a certain arc.  I really didn’t know where this one was going until I started writing.  Marilyn McEntyre writes that poets "play at the edges...holding tension between... the epiphanic and the deeply comforting familiar."

Does this poem feel familiar or give you an epiphany?  Does it do both?  Even better!