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My Sunflower

She flickers in the glass— a glitch of golden déjà vu, The paint strokes—bright, wild yellow, but no warmth leak through. I sometimes reach for her dimming leaves that hum against my skin then disappear. I pull back and smell ash, when nothing’s charred. There were twelve petals yesterday, now, only eleven. I wake up and count again. Still eleven, or maybe none. (I’m not sure if I’ve woken, even though I know I tasted salt from my tears.) Mother says we never got a dog. But I remember— the texture of his leather collar, the white fur tickling my nose. The sky runs— watercolor pulled too far. I check the time: 9:42 AM. Then I open my eyes. 4:08. She’s still there, scorched into my nightstand— brushing mirage into my vision. _______________ Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's sunflowers, which I cannot seem to stop thinking about.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Date: 6/8/2025 7:51:00 PM
A bit of the American author O'Henry here, methinks... referencing his classic story, 'The Last Leaf.' Kudos, Jasmine!
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Jasmine Tsai
Date: 6/8/2025 8:58:00 PM
Thank you for your compliment, Gershon! I've always love the 'The Last Leaf'. Even though this poem wasn't written with this beautiful story in mind, I'm so happy that you point it out... It really elevates the piece to a next level. Perhaps I will find a time to write about 'The Last Leaf' again. Thank you for the kind words <3

Book: Reflection on the Important Things