she was a chrysanthemum,
disenchanted with the sun who stole the water from her roots
disillusioned with the rain who ripped the petals from her face
disaffected with the gardener's boot who crushed her stem
she cursed the wind as it mocked her,
flying light and lively above her head
she met a bee once
who would sit on her petals,
fluttering its wings and staring
as if the world were dry
and she were the last sip of water.
and for a moment she thought
just maybe she was,
but she was a chrysanthemum
in a garden of too many flowers,
and the bee was gone before
the sun had left her to the mercy of the moon.
then one day,
a pair of hands found her wilting.
they scooped her up
planted her in a ***
brought her to a window
and watered her just enough.
she took her first real breath and saw
in the reflection of the window
that her stem was straight again
and her petals were strong and full.
she thanked the hands and
they went on being friends;
they gave her water and love and
she gave them beauty.
now she looks out the window
at the sun
and the rain
and the owner of the boot
and loves them.