Strange Flowers
Spring descends. My daughter draws Jupiter next to Mercury next to two purple circles representing us. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe in space, daddy.” And she means it as much as anything. More. The neighbor’s son screams over the fence, towards no one, “I’m in my human form now but at night I’m fully owl.” And he means it as much as anything. More. A memory: fourteen and angry. A wide room with round tables and round seats fixed to them. And we sat, some of us on the seats, on the tables, some of us lay in the spaces between. How we must have looked, like strange bees on stranger flowers. Their bitter nectar kept us calm. One guy (featureless face in the way that time makes abstract of concrete) points to the casio on his wrist - bright yellow like sunshine. Or lemons. Or vitamin piss. Points to the casio on his wrist and says “This is how they contact me. I need to stay human a little longer. I can’t turn back now because I’m wearing shoes.” But he wasn’t. And the feet peeking through the holes in his socks didn’t look like talons. My wrist buzzes now. Reminds me I need to stay human a little longer. My daughter’s hand, a tether to the ship, tugs at me. “I need you to push me on the swing.” And she means it as much as anything. More.