Good morning. This one's from the point of view of the petal...
From the Petal
Two years gone from the vine.
I hear that
Mom once lived at the flower shop, but
I’m violet.
I’ve never seen any familiar
Rose.
Soon.
I’m stuck to the stranger's sock
Sole,
A purple bruise
On the foot.
I hold the job of the
Strange. Fat. Flat. Ugly. Joke.
Peel me
Off.
Remember Robin.
Maybe he never sang so.
That
One
Landed --
I loved him.
Pretty wing,
Pretty
Much everything.
Wind, bring him back
Here.
As honest a torn leaf
As they come,
I’m fitting in
Nowhere,
And let it be
Known --
On the sidewalk,
I’m terrifying to the
Rest.
Little girls
Spy the red ones.
Little girls
Collect the others in
Buckets.
-- C.A. MacConnell
