For the girl who taught me that it starts like a dream and ends like a nightmare
• • •
The first time
Your fingers hover
Over the flower bud
You contemplate whether you should
Pick it now or later
When you pick it now
You notice
It is small enough to hide
In your clenched fist
Then you realize
You have been clutching a flower
Against your chest
And your fingers are stained red
It falls to the earth
And you chastise yourself
For forgetting about the thorns
For taking something that is not yours
You move on
To down a mug
Of something smoky yet saccharine
Even as it scorches your tastebuds
When you leave
You get a feeling
Something has been left behind
But you wouldn't have noticed
Red smears on the counter
YOU ARE READING
Finding Our Constellations
PoetryWe look up at the stars and find in them a constellation. This is a collection of letters written in the form of poetry. Inspired by the ups and downs of high school.
