Contemplating Sunflowers after Death
Sunflowers like smiling balloons,
round and robust, sounds
of the stem bobbing like a string
tied not to the past but to the soons.
Lost before noon, the duct
let out one final tear. Now
she is nearer to God than me.
Like a sheepdog, I guard my Dad.
Sunflowers, weaved into a frame,
deluded in happiness while we pass.
Petals pull at the heart, switching
moods between Winter and Spring.
His tears fill up palm lake, pulsing
of his broken heart. All delusions
fall off the cliff. Reality of life
without her, within.
Sunflowers’ dark brown centers,
the grief stricken eyes, tarred
and feathered. Childlike questions,
those eyes open wide…
So pretty purple urn; claustrophobic
words can’t contain the expression
of who she is-was. Ashes in eyes and
hearts of contemporary ascendants.
Sunflowers’ reflections, so alive,
slowly dying. We watch ourselves
fading. The funeral parading
before us, bypassing us.
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