Page 14 - The Bridge Vol 17_pgs

The Bridge

Sunflower

Adam blowers

I woke up with a memory sparkling in my eye
of being a kid of spring and summer—

I held my head high
like the tall, thin, quiet,
quickly growing sunflowers
I wish I was
in my grandmother’s garden
with my sun-speckled face
and my golden-washed locks,
basking in ultra-violet admiration
I thought the sun cast only for me,
when I still believed that the earth sat still
and the sun would swim across the oceanic sky,
through the seafoam clouds,
diving down into the hues of red
seas on the horizon of the season—

that was when I knew how to love myself
and the blooming sunflower within,
I’ve just forgotten to appreciate it
when I fell in love with the autumn moon emerging
from the smoky, deep, purple, watery depths
reflecting firefly stars
in the deep-end of my summer’s sky,
a photographic memory kept in a jar.

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