Flowers of May

By November 8, 2021G Spot

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

WHEN you left me

I promised to contain my tears

in between the petals of a wild flower

nurtured into bloom by the water

from the well you dug in my heart

 

I have drenched my denims

and my cotton blouse with my tears

when you pushed me away

so I can traverse unknown highways

and hike on terrain meant only for Bigfoot

 

I cried again when I left you, to seek solitary flowers

to sit and be with the sand in the desert expanse of Negev

to walk on cobblestones in the library at Firestone

to lick ice cream and ogle at couples licking each other

before looking at naked men hanging on the ceiling of chapels

and throwing coins at a fountain to wish for one

your voice echoes, “The world is yours for the picking”

and I picked without hesitation

 

and when finally, I picked you, you did not want to be picked

I am old, you whispered, I cannot carry you to bed

I cannot be naked with you in the moonlight

my bones ache in the evening mist of December

you refused my touch believing it would lead to wanting

and never getting to roll in the green grass

 

and now, you left

leaving me with words unsaid

and a box of letters and poems I wrote to you

as I tucked wishes in between crevices of the Wailing Wall

and as I offered prayers and cranes at ground zero in Hiroshima

 

it is enough to know

that you kept my poems

 

you might want to know

that I have picked some pebbles

and gathered wild flowers and weeds

on the road back to you

so we can play the games we forgot to play

while I was growing up and you were busy

growing old

 

we have forgotten some things

we have forgotten to express gratitude

for the spurts of happiness

and unspoken desires

in between

 

20150209 8:38 p.m.

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