By | 15 September 2022

ACT I: Marigolds

If I should drive out to the country in my most abjuring dreams
Let there be marigolds growing on the highway
Yellow and cheerful and hungry for sun
Constant and timeless and vulnerable
Let all the passenger-seat conjurings ask whether they were there the last time
Let my forgetfulness be a shoulder shrug the flavour of carefree youth
Let me become a highway metaphor a shade of openness I struggle to hold onto
Let holding on be the destination
A field of those marigolds where a cattle farm once was
The farmer’s husband buried beneath the grief she planted for him before the heartbreak killed her
Flower Angels I draw into the land of the secondary plot
Of the story that ends before I learn to carry them with me
The Naivety of permanence

The roar of engine as they germinate in my place

ACT II: Succulents

If I should make it to the dessert in the protractions of my musings
Let the succulents show me where to honour my grief
Weathered and hardened and thirsty
Determined and rebellious and resilient
Let a stew of loneliness and desert sun wonder what it is to grow in infertile ground
Let all of the small deaths within me skirt around the parts in the sands where their roots may lay
Let me lower my almost-dry corpses beside them and open my hands in offering
Let the offering be an exchange for learning
A hardened leaf beneath the hardened skin of my fingertip
The beads of sweat that roll down my forehead bid greeting to the tears on my cheeks
I wipe away at the salt on my face and vow to keep growing
In the tale that does not end with survival
The wisdom in flourishing

The crunch of sand beneath my feet as I make my own way

ACT III: Peonies

If I should appear as a b-plot in the escapisms of another
Let me be a field of peonies at the beginning of Spring
Layered and soft and blossoming
Vibrant and lush and rare
Let me be unafraid to flower so fleetingly they almost miss me
Let me be unashamed of my need for soil undoubtedly fertile to bloom like this
Let me have faith in all of the reasons I have always been worth waiting for
Let the waiting be the journey
A sea of pink-tinged petals reaching out to touch one another
The love I have learnt to give myself the only marvel worth noticing
A single moment in time when I am nothing if not the protagonist
Of this plot line in which I inevitably thrive
The sagacity of growth

The rustling of petals in the expanse of my anthesis

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