Daisies hold no memory, but there
above the creek alligators and otter
lay still in the Florida heat
on my stomach chaining weeds
like those in meadows far away
but small and fragile
in warm lungs was a god, in
paper, melodies and beats
a concrete sun, the
memory of heat/ I made a crown
call it confidence strung stem within split
stem, and soft petals holding on, un-
rooted quiet. My quiet heart
sitting where no one would go
on the sign for a school twenty
deep mobile homes stacked in
repetition that dulls the senses.
But these children take
the long way home, empty
parks to play cops and robbers
or some hide in the safety
between rows at the library
absorbing what it means to
thrive and become like heroes
or villains.
I see a wild kitten in the leaves
outside my window/ she leaps
and chases something she knows
to chase, and my cache of flowers
too wild and delicate to be
real daises- I chain a
crown, unroot the silence
without a sound but the song
becoming between breath
and thought.
In Due Proportion 