POETRY
Forget-Me-Not
POMprompt#22 response: What’s Out Your Window
Chinese Forget-me-nots, sprouts emerging from the soil; they, too, long for sun. But some things only linger outside of windows. Will they rise and smash themselves against the glass? Eager to forget me as quick as you did? I planted Forget-me-nots, you see.
Or, will they thank me for birthing them in that soil, offering them water, placing them carefully on the sill for the sun to warm their soils? I took care with the hope of root. One can only nurture until the point of pain or limitation, then release knowing memories are such fickle blooms.
Why is thank you so easy to say when you’re standing in the sun? Why not in those moments when the soil is still cold and the hope of root is all you have?
When finally they blossom there, in the framing of my window will they loathe the restriction of their containers? Grow upward and sunward, pressing their faces to the glass, bearing their blues as shouts of praise to
the sun, always, always just outside
the glass.
This poem is in response to POMprompt #22 What’s Outside Your Window?
Today, it’s sun.
