Sunflower

She opened like a flower to the light,

letting it wash over and warm her

as she displayed her insides, trembling

but unashamed.

Each petal pulled and sighed and gave,

and she believed she was beautiful.

Gasping, pleasure moved to pain,

as heat overwhelmed her.

Her eyes opened, confusion becoming fear.

The light had misled her.

Blazing, it licked and consumed and took,

singeing away velvet,

leaving only ash.

She fell to fire, barreling and reckless.

But—

beneath the earth, blanketed and encased,

a fragile seed remained untouched,

and waited for the sure arrival

of the sun.

Advertisements

Keepsake

I find it more than a little difficult

to let things go.

My apartment is strewn with bits of paper:

old cookie fortunes, bus passes,

parking tickets, anything

I think I might need and a hundred things

I know I won’t.

Still,

I keep them, pressed

between the pages of books,

hidden under flowerpots,

scraps of memory

shoved beneath bed frames.

 

I find it difficult

to let you go.

My mind is littered with snapshots:

a shark in the stairs,

a laughing drug dealer with steady hands,

orange streetlights spilling

on a cracked sidewalk.

And my mind wonders,

“What if I need you?”

So,

I keep you, pressed

between the halves of my brain,

hidden beneath my tongue,

your name, pinned,

just between my shoulder blades.