Flora
I told her I
wanted to be a
flower, the kind
which push up through the
heavy soil every
single spring
naturally, she let her
eyes flicker left
right
forward
and directly at me in a
moment of icy confusion
and a permanently frozen
glance of incredulity
flowers are my
favorite for their vitality
and in their dabbling in escapes
in their choice to hide
my world is like
winter I told her
I want to hide under
the ground until spring and
thunderstorms and bumblebee wings
brush a deep brown blanket away
and wake me
she said
it’s sunny outside
it’s warm out
you’re confused
I can’t remember who
claimed to find ignorance
in the other
does it matter?
the flowers still had the
choice to escape winter
in a final brave act of resignation
to nature
and I’m still in the play with
no soil to climb into
and slumber under
I told her I wanted
to be a flower
and I needed it to be
spring so
I walked away
