Bloom

Flowers all over the childish forest

flowers all over the childish sky

junebells for birthdays

and lilacs for highways

colors of earth angels passing by.

(The first year after you disappeared

the rain swallowed you

the summer lawns yawned your name

the trees choked on you

right down to the whispered roots.)

Sweet as a swing set, dark as a flame

flowers all over your childish name

spray from a sprinkler, cooling the hours

laying our footsteps with thistle-wood flowers.

(Everything is transformed because of you

and nothing is the same as before.

The windows cry for you as the wind shakes them

and combs the flying leaves.)

Flowers all over the childish sidewalk

flowers all over the childish sea

carnations and blueberries

(and fairy-tale fortresses)

are lost to the air and the world and the bee

lost is the calyx of you and me.

L. Quattrochi is nineteen years old. She started writing poetry in high school.