There is a sunflowererupting throughthe simian creaseof my right palm.
I shed layer after layerof salty skintill the petals glowin a rhapsodic rhythm.
I fearthis abrupt floweringthat I carry everywherelike a mystery, an abnormal boon.A disturbing comfort.
The day you leftI wept.And since thenI am becomingmy own garden.
***
Painting: Sunflowers,1887, Vincent van Gogh (Met Museum, New York)
