What I see when I see my sunflower
Poets wrote of eternity
being seen in a flower.
I looked. And looked.
Even in the wild rose,
being seen in a flower.
I looked. And looked.
Even in the wild rose,
white ghost-whispered pink tips amongst
its dry, brown withered sisters,
I could not find it.
But my seed I planted weeks ago,
and have watched upwards since -
all green leaf and stem and question,
has opened -
one eye, coy under fluttering eyelashes
of a landed goldfish Sun.
And I feel like I nurtured a star
that looks out beyond me -
the oldest beginning, begun -
calling all of today's wings
to gather black and opaline
under a silk fire
its dry, brown withered sisters,
I could not find it.
But my seed I planted weeks ago,
and have watched upwards since -
all green leaf and stem and question,
has opened -
one eye, coy under fluttering eyelashes
of a landed goldfish Sun.
And I feel like I nurtured a star
that looks out beyond me -
the oldest beginning, begun -
calling all of today's wings
to gather black and opaline
under a silk fire
feeding tomorrow.
LJ Ireton 2024
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