I AM NOT A FLOWER
A quiet windowsill turns noisy with the breath of morning
Birds and sunlight twisting their way through the open wilderness
Cotton candy clouds in an ivory whisper prop themselves
Against the backdrop of the susurrate sky.
The murmur of day elopes with the night, making a marriage of blues
Climbing like vines over the stars and tilting the moon
Toward the silhouette of trees
And the depths of the oceanic gossip of bumblebees.
Confiding in dreams, the shadow of lemonade sun
Peeks over top of the ledge and seeps into the carpet
A warmth on the beige, casting rainbows through the glass
Waking the bright summer.
Crocus purple and lily-white shine bright on the walls
Climbing with streaks of light like the branches of my cranberry bush
Tickling the dewdrops while pirouetting around the breeze
Thunder echoing in the distance and making my heart ache
with the reminder of the flowers, all outside and waiting for water
Like I wait for water, but in a different way because
I am not a flower, but I will bloom.
Nicole Bea and her husband share their home in Eastern Canada with a collection of multi-colored cats and a lifetime's worth of books. She has written several novels for middle grade through to adult audiences, and her poems and stories have appeared or are forthcoming in a variety of publications. During the day, Nicole works as a technical writer and by night she focuses on 'deep stories to dig into': pieces that include romance, honesty, hope, and self-discovery.