Yellow Daffodil

X

 X

My chest broke open

into a garden of yellow

daffodil blooms on

the morning after.

The morning after

the sound of your

breath stopped. You

listened to my voice.

My red voice fell

down, falling, fell

from the sky in

one black long shriek.

I was face down.

I could hear the sun

stroke my back, licking

my scar of you- slowly.

A rocket holding

grief shot open.

My teeth shattered.

Grief shot open wide.

I was not who

or where I was.

I was an earthquake.

I had become a random tsunami.

Keep still. Keeping

still I sang a lullaby.

Singing, I sang

a hallowed hymn.

I woke up in water.

Floating in sweat, tears

seeped through my

rigid, begging, crying body.

Later and suddenly, I

felt a daffodil bud

breaking through

my solid curving collarbone.

Yellow.

 

3 May 2011   Catherine L. Johnson