Wilted Flowers
I was working on a Sunday, and as I walked past the florist
I took notice of a lovely sunflower bouquet
with thick stems and caterpillar bites in its leaves
the petals glowing golden shades of citrine
priced at five dollars; the cheapest of the bunch
I decided to buy them after I got off of lunch
in the means to make amends with my family
placed on the counter to admire from dinner that evening
I brought them home and arranged them inside of a vase
the flowers were entangled in the chaotic mess of this place
I held my mom as she cried on my shoulder,
she was comforted by my embrace
we were born angels and goddesses
before falling from grace
I’ve been learning how to grow grapes
and make them into fine wine
the secret is that there’s no use
of artificial sunshine
everything takes time
you need to have hope that your garden will grow
forget about going by plans in life and go with the flow
taking care of plants is just another example in the circle of life
beginning as just a tiny seed and eventually
you will blossom and thrive
I have preserved flowers sitting in jars on an altar
they helped me realize that living is truly an honor
having a story makes your destiny last longer
the unthought things you did when you were younger
I think of all of this as I’m staring at these wilted sunflowers
as soon as the day begins, I’m fulfilled by unconventional wonders
I learned to paint on canvas but I still prefer drawing in chalk on the concrete
I could wear shoes but I feel more connected when I walk on dirt with bare feet
a watermelon is sweet when it has lots of bee stings
there are so many questions I have about impossibilities
though my petals will soon droop and my stem become weak
I will live and die by the rocky waterfall at the creek
where I learned to climb and
where I finally reached the mountain peak
whether I transform into a pumpkin or into a dandelion
a creature in the depths of the ocean or a constellation
ashes in the air or a body inside of a casket
a tree stripped down its bark to weave into a basket
your body is simply a composition of fragments
colors created by the Earth’s natural pigments
you will always belong, no matter
how many times you thought
that your existence was wrong
even if you’re strong,
even if you’re wilted
your garden still wants to be visited
- Leah Rae