Melanoma Petals

July 25, 2008
The sun burst ultra-voilet thumbprints
into any and all exposed flesh
as we stuffed flowers into our mouths-
we fed one another
liles and daisies
until the wreath on the
coffin lid was bare.
Our tears looked like
we were leaking
marigolds out of our eyes-
pollen-mixed tears.

Our goodbyes were singing
"Ode to Joy", throats
choked with regrets,
dipping our stubby fingers into the
cool and holy baptismal pool water,
saying goodbye meant
we all pretended to forget
hospital rooms,
alzheimer's words
waterfalling from her thin lips;

-just remember coal black soil-
we were all hoping
flowers' roots would crack the headstone open,
grow a vine
straight into the hand of god.

We all just
stood in the sun,
tears evaporate off of cheeks
into the steamy summer air and hoped
the flowers would all germinate,

grow into something better.

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