Flowers From Memory


I stare into the limitless garden,
I stare openly letting my vision blur over the dulling Kelly colored grass pedals,
looking to the unique pallets of graying brick, with portraits of iridescent colored flowers…

I listen to the soft sound of the breeze floating through flower pedals.
Creamy sun-kissed in the center,
Pedals flowing out from the humps of its own beaming sun.
A bumbling bee flourishes this blossoming plant,
The memory hits me ten-fold and unravels like a scarlet ribbon.

I’m looking at the pine tree trail ahead of me, with cold gusts of wind,
Throwing itself through sleeping, crackling branches.
Our steps in synchronization crunching the corpse leaves and pine needles beneath us,
I feel the braided rope in between my chilled fingers,
I feel heat course through my body, pulsing through protruding veins.

I look into the flower pedals, I see his frosty white fur,
Contrasted with his acorn brown mane and tail, course to the touch.
His one blue eye mirrors mine, the other is walnut brown, unique. We are bonded.

Patriot fought for freedom. I fought for him.

The open sky beams down a warm, clement heat on my back, my legs.
The breeze floats through my blissful amber colored hair.
I’m five years back, feeling the heat in my body filled with gaiety and glee.
I hold the lead line as we approach his stall.


Sand colored wood with black hinges like a new moon night.

A new, silver gate that swings closed behind you,
Smell of molasses and peppermint treats in the glossy coal black corner feeder,
He nuzzles me with his nose that’s soft as silk.

I hear footsteps shuffling down the hallway,
My vision clears and I’m staring at the quivering pedals quarreling with the breeze,
I’m back in my memory garden.