Sunflower field

Sehereen Rahman

two sunflowers, one wilting

Waking up to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains
The sun comes to rest against my wardrobe
She falls soft and slow on my paint stained floor
I never liked the sun, we don’t belong in the same room,
but I suppose it is better than being lonely

Making lemon tea on grey afternoons when the clouds rumble overhead
Memories of her flood my head, I struggle to breathe
Occasional sips, warmth soothes the waves echoing in my chest
I remember my head against the crook of her neck
stars at the corners of her eyes

Soft afternoons,sneaking out of the house to jump on puddles
The sky bleeds liquid gold, deep breaths, wet mud, the air smells
of forgotten dreams and september breeze
I dance barefoot, hoping to see her on abandoned rooftops

Painting frogs on every surface
Mushroom sculptures lining my window sill
My hands grip paint brushes now, instead of the bedsheet
I remember pricking my fingers behind every closed door
My bruises are now coated with dried paint- i like them that way

I collect pink rocks on golden summer days
My feet are calloused- in some other life I climbed the tallest oak trees
I remember a poem i wrote in my head one winter morning, wrapped in a frayed cardigan, monachopsis
`if you were in the woods, I would be one of the trinkets you stumble upon`

My memories, they are like ink stains on fingers
That are never really there- until u notice
The glass walls, with our names engraved on them, will crumble
I will rip off the vines wrapped around my body, a protective armour
There will be no footsteps to listen for, no explosive rage
The weight of all the `almosts` will dissolve
I will be tired, vulnerable, I will soften- all the things my mother said I should never be
There are bodies in the basement, i will bury them
And that which is now a graveyard will one day be a sunflower field

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