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.