Pressing Matters

August 2, 2008
By Stephanie Wang, Roslyn, NY

My flower.
I saw you first in the beautiful meadow,
Filled with thousands of your peers,
And out of all of them, I chose you
Because I spotted you first, smelled first your scent-
Fragrant and drifting, like the lush, perfect petals that sprout
Silkily out of your yellow center, shining with absorbed sun.
You captivated me, I was tugged by the heart
Towards your stem. But I was too greedy.

I viciously grabbed you by the roots, too soon,
Wanting you, wanting you to want only me,
Exposed you to the foreign air, dangling helpless
And it wasn’t long until you began to dull sepia like a memory.

Yet, before you dimmed and withered into the ground,
Before you were layered deep into the earth, underneath and unseen,
I pressed you between two slabs of dry wood.
The colors of your petaled hair were vibrantly hued;
I’ll treasure you for eternity, frame you
With the mahogany of your coffin, my dear, my sweet
Black-eyed Susan.



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