poem written in response to this image--online poetry class assignment
The old book lies open as if it finally gave up trying to hold its spine straight. A faint mustiness rises~ not unpleasant, just honest. Someone left wildflowers on the page, thin stems crossing the margin like they wandered in and didn’t bother to leave. A few petals rest on the sentence that once meant something important. Raindrops cling to the blossoms, small bright beads that look as though the sky paused long enough to add its own commentary. The words underneath don’t complain; they simply share the space, letting the flowers speak in their quiet, wordless way. For a moment, the whole thing feels accidental and perfectly right~ a story meeting what grows without needing permission.
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