His flowers are beginning to bow.
Suppose they feel reverent rather than sick.
Suppose they’re honoring his practice
of tending to flyaway trash, or the way
he loves his woman. Those petals hear
everything. Suppose they’re removing
their colorful shoes, falling to kneel, to pray
in agreement, to echo the wail of human
begging. Suppose his neighbor does not visit.
Suppose she’d just say all the wrong words.
She wanders at night with a watering can
instead. Suppose he awakens to a miracle.
Cyndie Randall holds a BA in Creative Writing/Poetry and an MA in Counseling. She works as a therapist and lives near Michigan’s Kalamazoo River on land that once belonged to the Potawatomi people. Her words have appeared or are forthcoming in Love’s Executive Order, Ghost City Review, Yes Poetry, The Manifest-Station, Barren Magazine, Mojave Heart Review, and elsewhere. You can connect with Cyndie on Twitter @CyndieRandall or at cyndierandall.com.