#marigolds
If I received a marigold whenever I thought of you
I would walk in the sun’s rays forever
That peeks out through your hair
And lights up your eyes
Your eyes.
The yellows and reds in my heart
Are shown in Autumn’s turning leaves
Bouncing off in rays of golden light
Like the light in your eyes
Your eyes.
Just the thought of them makes my heart beat
Not the sea-blue of them
But the fact that they were on me.
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 8:46 PM UTC
i.
must be nice being a live-in crypt-keeper
lounging on stones till they fall over
keeping the grass warm for ‘em
ii.
i sip my juice glass of box wine
i make eye contact with the deer, freezing
a woman feeds them breadcrumbs from her car around noon
and they all saunter over
gods examining their offerings
on an altar in the mausoleum parking lot
when the sun sets, they approach loose dirt and chew
on the marigolds some suckers planted
in fits of poetic reverent irony
and i watch them(and i know they hate the taste
or i bite my cheek and know they’re supposed to)
iii.
i always wanted to live in a crypt
stained glass concrete windows
and little kids wondering what might be inside
like the doors to dracula’s castle
too distant for curious fists to reach
no wi-fi no hi-byes
no glowing screens
or angry yellow eyes through dusty curtains
and no need to save my neighbors’ numbers
or pretend the empty apple tree don’t bother me
iv.
after a while
meeting people who think they’re immortal stops being funny
like a joke you tell a thousand times
till you realize no one’s laughing
or the birthday card in the dust below your bed
that you now force to live on your wall
maybe i’ve lived here too long
because i used to climb that apple tree
just like she climbed a cherry tree in italy
just like the poor talented ghost who one day became it
but one by one we all swung down
and now none of us know what season it is,
just that it’s colder than it was when we first stepped off the grass
on a rainy day in april
because the deer don’t come near me anymore
they know i’m always empty-handed,
always hear my shivering bones approaching
when they fall asleep laying on her chest
v.
i stay awake, surrounded
at the kitchen table,
heating up the meatballs we found in her freezer
and sipping box wine with one ice cube ringing against the glass
a couple blocks away
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 10:37 AM UTC
we used to plant marigolds in the garden.
dressed up in my rain boots, bucket hat, your work gloves that slid all the way up past my elbows + a trowel in my hand
i deliberately dug each of their holes
making sure each flower had enough space to grow.
your fingertips danced over the roots,
loosening them from the shape of the plastic box that once contained them.
freeing them.
letting them breathe.
with both hands you so precisely placed the flowers into their new home.
as you held them in place,
i tucked them in with new soil.
kissing each of their blossoms to wish them a life of prosperity.
the reflection of the marigolds in your eyes were like fireworks.
they brought life to your body
as they did mine.
but when your eyes shifted to me
all of that color faded.
everyday we checked on them
making sure that they were safe + flourishing.
it was a ritual that became more + more redundant each day
until a dandelion popped up.
my heart exploded as little blossoms of sunshine sprouted up around the deep maroon + orange flowers we chose.
your heart crumbled.
they were weeds, ruining your sanctuary.
worthless + ruthlessly growing wild.
your docile garden was turning into an amalgam of life.
the light left your eyes when you looked at them
something i recognized all too well.
you wanted a marigold.
something i could never be.
the tame flower that you admire so much
was incomparable to my dandelion soul.
i sprouted up in your garden
consuming it with my heart + spirit.
it was unfamiliar, something you could not control.
something you never wanted.
but it was there
i was there
bringing light + wildness to your home.
met with rage, you destroyed me.
plucked all the blossoms.
eradicated all the roots.
time + time again, you abolished any evidence of regrowth.
you planted more nursery grown flowers
to cover up the genocide of my heart.
i wonder if that was enough for you to forget.
i wonder if you think of me
when you think of the marigolds we used to plant in the garden.
Feb 15, 2022
Feb 15, 2022 at 10:08 AM UTC
As with all of the big, great losses
not very much from here forward
is going to be the same
I know it won't
I do want you to applaud
on your way out though
despondently, once again
the harmonica begins to play.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
roses in my ribs
lilies on my lips
pearls in my pockets
tulips on my tongue
honeysuckles on my heart
tiger flowers on my thighs
marigolds on my mirror
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
You fill the bowl
To wash the pots
You make sure the water
Is scorching hot
Plenty of fairy
To cut through the gunge
Then into the deep
Do your marigolds plunge
But in a split second
You cry out in pain
A blood curdling scream
There’s a ******* hole in them again!
Your fingers are singed
You jump up and down
Wrestling with the rubber
Dragging it down
Over your arms
As fast as you can
Revealing the blisters
All over your hands
How on earth
Did these marigolds go
And foil me again
By acquiring a hole?
They’re ****** brand new
Only worn them once!
Yet somehow they’re torn
And my digits are toast
Why does this happen?
Is there no God?
Invent some ******* rubber
Immune to the ****
Of a mystery hole punch
That wins every time
Incinerating my poor fingers
As I try to remove grime!
Surely there’s an answer
An invention for that -
If only rubber gloves
Were made of shellac.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
With the ivy on my house, I had to reconsider what flowers I wanted to add to my garden. I never expected to be gifted a hydrangea sapling that I planted beneath the wall of ivy. I was much more beautiful than I had originally thought, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the hydrangeas were able to grow and flourish on their own alongside the ivy. The scent of hydrangeas became comforting to me.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 4:09 PM UTC
Not much later, a patch of ivy crept up the side of my house, right above the garden bed nestled against the outer wall. I didn't worry about it at first, I treated it as an after thought until I noticed that it had eventually covered the whole side of my house. The thick ivy had cast a shadow over my little side garden and my black eyed susans were dying. I tended to them until my knees were bruised and my hands were matted with dirt, but I could not save them. They died. Eventually I grew used to the ivy; I grew to appreciate its unique beauty and held it in fondness, but I would never forget my beloved black eyed susans.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
The marigolds had inspired me to add black eyed susans to my garden. Their yellow petals were enticing and their black centers lured me in. There was just something about them that kept me coming back to tend to them, to waste my time in order for them to flourish. The marigolds I had previously planted had died due to my neglect, but I found I didn't miss them much when my attention was focused on the black eyed susans.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
I am assured by my loving mother as a child
I believe her because the beauty in everything flow’rs and flourishes
when you’re young
The world is yours to take, everyone is yours to meet, everything is yours to do;
and I believe her.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
My first friend at school proclaims,
and I believe them.
We’ve tackled ***** training and preschool, now onto the playground and phonics!
We run and run together, taking the world like we’ve
whispered once before;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The middle school test scores announce,
and I believe them.
Primary school is in the past and I’m ready for responsibility!
I put on makeup to feel pretty, care about my grades more than the teachers believe and flash my smile to the boys who spit “compliments” at my feet;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
but.. I don’t believe them anymore.
I’ve gained just enough confidence to smile at everyone in the halls in case they are having a bad day.
Suddenly my youthful euphoric vision is graffitied with hateful words and violence.
I run and constantly chase the innocence of the world,
being surrounded by darkness.
My self esteem has hit an all time low. Why is the world this way?
My friends and I chase what we used to believe and end up in deep holes;
and I don’t believe them anymore.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
And it doesn’t matter.
I have lost all hope of finding that beauty.
My heart is an aching mess of “I love you”’s
But all I hear is “you are meaningless”
Slowly these phrases of deep hate sear into my soul
I hear them every day and every night
You are meaningless
You are not worthy
You could not possibly be good enough
Until I wake up one dismal morning to realize that I have been defined by the ones around me.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
..and enough!
Because even my friends who say I’m worth something turn around and sneer at others like they can’t too be loved.
Because while the world screams “I hate people” I whisper
“but I don’t”.
But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things
because we’ll find someone who loves us, right?
No.
Our words between just us mean nothing if we spin around and
spit in others’ faces.
And we know we hurt because we’ve been hurt but we don’t stop, none of us stop.
I dream of a world that screams a vulnerable
“I love you”
out into the world instead of a pulsing
“I hate you”
And a world that remembers that we are all worthy of love and not only the kind that makes you blush.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The phrase I’ve heard since I was in my mother’s gentle hold
can only mean so much when you think you’re crumpled.
Stashed away until you’re needed
always feeling so defeated
but the truth
not told enough
to our weakened souls
We are all worth more than the marigolds
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
I had gotten so used to self-hatred
That when he called me
"Beautiful"
I wondered why,
Why in the world
Would a bee leave
Roses, marigolds, sunflowers
And choose to be in the mud?
"Because YOU," he said,
"You are my lotus".
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
what is more gentle,
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
where no one ever goes.
I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
you in me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.
four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I never may forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as you, in me.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC