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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4005 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Wildflower Marie Eyre A wildflower dies by the door, its lemon head faded to mouseskin hues; withered leaves curl arthritic. Once proud and two feet sunny, it threatens to snap at the fibrous crease etched into its grizzled stem. A spider web spans the flower’s space and sticky-swings to the jamb; thread-light spindles across the weave. The landlord is out but a tiny gnat waits in the swaying parlor. August breeze can’t mind its business, teases the dust from sagging steps and plays a petal into the web, catch and flutter -- tattered tango, last dance into transformation. Spider comes home, scuttles the petal into the wind, eats the gnat, spins a little more house. I tug on the dying flower. A stubborn fractal of the world at large, it resists my attempt at removal. Uneasiness tosses my thoughts; I grasp that I’m merely part of the math: a web strung between time a decimal point at infinity maybe just another wildflower -- catch and flutter -- tattered tango, last dance into transformation. |
