Instructions on Not Giving Up

Limón is known for observing nature with vivid imagistic language and tying it to the human experience. In “Instructions on Not Giving Up,” the poet observes a “crabapple tree” (Line 2) as it flowers in “Spring” (Line 5), producing gaudy blooms. However, as abundant as this blooming seems at first, the poet is struck instead by the subtler process of the “greening of the trees” (Line 5) around it. This natural process seems much more powerful and meaningful. The tree and its “green skin growing over” (Lines 9-10) becomes Limón’s metaphor for appreciating careful resilience over the embrace of mere spectacle.

The poet starts by describing an overwhelmingly conspicuous abundance of blooms. An “almost obscene display of cherry limbs” (Line 3) is on the “crabapple” (Line 2), which belongs to a “neighbor” (Line 2). This type of tree, when it blooms, is soon covered in white or pink flowers depending on the variety of “crabapple” (Line 2) it is. The bright flowers are plentiful on each branch, often too numerous to count. Here, the flowers vary in color from “fuchsia” (Line 1), which is a bright deep pink, to a gentler “cotton candy-colored” (Line 4) hue. It’s a forceful “display” (Line 3) of color, which is heightened by the grey color of the “slate / sky of Spring rains” (Lines 4-5). The blooming feels somewhat aggressive, indicated not just by the word “obscene” (Line 3), but in how the flowers’ beauty is described. They seem to be “breaking out” (Line 1) and “shoving” (Line 3) toward the “sky” (Lines 5). This is a deliberate contrast to the gentler “greening of the trees” (Line 5), which are “patient” (Line 9) and “plodding” (Line 9). This budding of new “green skin” (Line 9) is slow-going and deliberate, taking its time. It is no show-off. The poet’s preference for the “trees” (Line 5) is indicated by her note that “more” (Lines 1, 2) than the raucous blooms, “it’s the greening of the trees / that really gets to me” (Lines 5-6). This is, she points out, what she is emotionally drawn toward.

This personal notation of her emotion forces the reader out of mere observation into considering what the poet’s message might be. Limón begins to contrast the ephemeral nature of the fancy outward show with the trees’ abidance. The “shock of white / and taffy” (Lines 6-7) that the flowers provide is fleeting. In this description, Limón deliberately calls back to the “candy-colored blossoms” (Line 4) by referencing another sweet, “taffy” (Line 7). However, “taffy” (Line 7) isn’t just a confection; the word also describes insincere flattery. This heightens the contrast between two modes of beauty: its superficial outwardness versus its slow growth. The poet goes on to show that the “crabapple” (Line 2) blooms are fickle, for they “leave / the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath” (Lines 7-8). While “confetti” (Line 8) is associated with celebration, it’s also messy. Eventually, all those little pieces of paper must be cleaned up. Confetti is, by nature, a transitory item; it’s meant to be used quickly and discarded. This image of multiple bright petals against a darker cement, still wet after “rains” (Line 5), also hints at the remaining cloud-cover given by “the slate / sky of Spring rains” (Lines 4-5). This, along with the word “aftermath” (Line 8) hints all is not right with the poet’s emotional life. Again, the reader is brought closer to the poet’s internal life. Just because it is spring and flowers are flourishing, it does not mean everything is sweetness and light. Limón observes that the blooms dazzle like “the world’s baubles and trinkets” (Line 7), suggesting that while they are superficially attractive, they have little worth beyond their seasonal “display” (Line 3). It’s the “green skin growing” (Line 9) on the nonflowering “trees” (Line 5) around them that has true value. Limón asserts that it’s after the outward show of celebration, that the steadiness of the everyday must be appreciated.

The poem’s second half extends this metaphor and focuses on how a person might recover from a particularly difficult period. While the “aftermath” (Line 8) is, on a literal level, the scattered blooms felled by the rain, the poet also alludes to an emotional aftermath, some kind of pain that was caused by the metaphorical season of “winter” (Line 10), which lingers for the poet. It’s not sunny or temperate yet, despite the burst of the surrounding flowers. The poet herself is trying to recover from “whatever winter did to us” (Line 10). This use of “us” could specifically indicate the poet and someone close to her, who have gone through something painful, but it also serves as a device to include the outside reader. Many adults, possibly including the reader, have had moments when “the mess of us, the hurt, the empty” (Line 12) seemed impossible to bear. Limón seems to say, “Forget showy answers; a sense of rebirth is vital after a time of despair.” She points out that it is when “the leaves come” (Line 9) and one sees that “[p]atient, plodding, green skin / growing” (Line 9) that one can find real hope. Limón implies that if someone can appreciate this “greening” (Line 5), they can find a “return to the strange idea of continuous living” (Lines 10-11). “Despite” (Line 11) anything bad that may have happened in the interim, despite the harshness of “winter” (Line 10), the “new slick leaf” (Line 13) will always reveal itself.

The poem urges against distraction by superficial positivity; instead, suggests the poet, one should concentrate on genuine restoration. Limón gives no platitudes—real regeneration is hard work. The poem’s final lines, personifying the “tree” (Line 13), capture the recognition that there is a difficult beauty. The humanized reaction of the “tree” (Line 13) at the end of the poem is both wary and weary, “Fine then, / I’ll take it, the tree seems to say […]” (Line 12-13). The poet feels the tree’s hesitancy and its stretch to “unfurl” (Line 14) its “leaf” (Line 13) from a “fist to an open palm” (Line 14). After a painful battle, still carrying “the hurt, the empty” (Line 12), we—the “us” (Line 10, 12) of the poem—may still be tempted to fight. Our “fist” (Line 14), too, may be curled up and ready to hit out, especially at the trickery of frivolous and provisional beauty, but Limón urges us to listen to her tree. It shows us that slow beauty, patience for our new beginnings, is the only thing that can make us “unfurl” (Line 14) our hand like “a slick new leaf” (Line 12). Even though it’s wounded, it still makes the effort at “continuous living” (Line 11). With her extended metaphor, Limón lets the tree be our teacher, giving us the hopeful lessons on how to “take it all” (Line 14).