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 lives in a tiny island town surrounded by Michigan’s Kalamazoo River. Her words have appeared in The Manifest-Station, Barren Magazine, Fathom Mag, YANYR anthology by Rhythm & Bones Press, and elsewhere. She holds a BA in Creative Writing and an MA in Counseling, which means she spends most of her time exploring what it's like to be human. You can connect with Cyndie on twitter @CyndieRandall or at cyndierandall.com