pressed flower petals
2019-02-27

***

a voyage to the deeps of my grandmother's basement
where I was born in the fog and the mist
in the midst of a dying god's death throes
marking the genesis of my woes

you and I sit a whole world away
while in the wires tangled around my wrists we play
neither here nor there nor anywhere

sometimes I wonder if the best of my days are gone
swept up in the wind and scattered to the horizon
the only proof that this ever happened some hastily-scrawled poems
and photographs of the places where we breathed
and blushing pink flower petals, pressed in these pages for all time

Independence Park, where the clouds used to go by,
as a newborn, you cradled me tight and then watched me fly
now, as I yearn to go back and remember who I am
will you sing me one last lullaby?

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander