Runaway Flowers – a Seed Poem
That day, we planted flowers beyond the fence, pretty little flowers that would throw a blanket of sweet scents on the front step. We didn’t mind the muck under our fingernails or the stench of sweaty armpits, a note from the marathon we ran once, ages before we met and drank tea on the other side of the world. Too much sugar, I had put into mine, you, on a no-sugar plan. I’ll try it for a month, you said in the big armchair cracking your knuckles. That’s the trouble with plans, you sighed the other day. They abscond. Which is true for some but not for everyone. Like my Dad, he fusses over the flowerbeds and plants the seeds in a straight line / angled with precision to rain and rays. And his flowers beam. Me, I’m always losing seeds but the wind ends up planting flowers in places you didn’t know existed.