There was a time when we picked those lilies.
You don’t quite remember when, but I surely do.
The mid-summer sun kept the fields warm,
And caressed the phlox as it slow-danced to the breeze.
And the light held on to our eyelashes
As if it needed them, pleaded for their existence,
Like a child with the eyes of a butcher
And the smile of a poet,
In need of shelter
We danced to that Indian summer-
Little did we know that it was our last.
And our laughter, filling the heavens,
With our present and our past
Seeping, consuming, lingering,
Echoing even louder at the touch of our hands.
Little did I know that life would grab you away,
Borrow you for a dance and
Never give you back.
Little did I know that this purple phlox-
Where lively things flourished to our company
Would crack and break
Like a twig fooled by the storm.
And now all that remains of you and I
And our dreams, lives, past, future, beginning, end,
Ambitions, and existence
Is this place –
Grotesque yet beautiful
An ant stuck in Baltic amber
Worn in a necklace around my chest
Where my heart is a cave
And it’s cold and it’s dark.
And there’s nothing left but these lilies
Which laugh and dance to the breeze.
Copyright © Maya Kaabour