I may never see your poetry
The words you’d write down,
If you chose.
But I can see
When your eyes flash gray
Or dance to green
The pain, and sorrow
The joy, the seams
The tiny parts of you that died
As you grew.
The parts that scarred,
That show right through,
The skin that healed,
From blood to blue
And the tiny parts
Just starting now
To flourish
These past few years.
And the pieces that are
At last full bloom
Like a zinnia, in a garden
Not brighter,
At first glance
But if you picked her
So she sat
Beside the other
Flowers and
As you sipped
Your morning tea
It’s her, that zinnia
You’d look twice at
The petals
Their depth
Their memory.
I may never see your poetry
The way that I show mine,
But I can see
When your eyes flash gray
And dance to green
The soil you loved
And the soil you left
And the leaves that
That zinnia grew.
