Flowers of May
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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