I tried to write a poem about you once
When I finished, it was a drawing of a sunflower.
I had no words.
I ripped it out of my journal without noticing scars of being pulled away from something binding… because you held it.
Then, I couldn’t imagine it anywhere but your hands
Even when you put it on your wall, I didn’t feel the sharpness of the tack that held it there
Then it didn’t match the other things that occupied the wall
And you didn’t have room in your hands to hold it because you had to finish a paper for tomorrow,
then you had to go to dinner,
then breakfast,
then class, then work,
then you took the tack out and cleaned off the blood smears behind it.
The throbbing hasn’t stopped since
Today I don’t even remember what that sunflower looked like
And wonder if at the end of the day, it still rotates its stem towards the sun.