To Trevor
Before I met you, I had been craning my neck for so long it had stretched to thousands of feet, just searching for a glimmer of sunlight. I had no idea, but I was heliotropic for you. On our first date, I traversed the last four feet across the table and my sunflower-face became illuminated in a circular smile. This summer I will pick up my stringy roots, hold them in my leaf-hands, and walk three hundred and sixty eight miles to you. My stem will lengthen down musty corridors to find you singing in the Brooklyn subway. The best part of being with you is that you are heliotropic too. When you look at me, you are just as blinded by me as I am by you. A sun and a sunflower and a sunflower and a sun. Symmetry.
We have been communicating via haiku for a few months–or senryu, to be more specific. Upon waking I send you a message:
chlorophyll in veins
petals soaking up your sun
i’m dazzled by you.
You respond:
no dear, i’m the plant.
you, nutrient enriched soil
my grubby dirt girl
Comments