untitled
I am a sunflower.
I turn my yellow
and black face,
bruised, to the sun,
hoping its light will
heal me.
With my eyes closed
I can see my stamen,
veins in my eyelids,
bulbous
where they intersect.
The sun feeds me
and I, grateful,
pour myself into
the air. I am
sweet;
I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue
and I suffocate under
your eyelids.
I turn my yellow
and black face,
bruised, to the sun,
hoping its light will
heal me.
With my eyes closed
I can see my stamen,
veins in my eyelids,
bulbous
where they intersect.
The sun feeds me
and I, grateful,
pour myself into
the air. I am
sweet;
I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue
and I suffocate under
your eyelids.
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Other stories by Natasha Whyte
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Intriguing, evocative POV. Reminds me a bit of a Zen riddle or mediation.*
"I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue
and I suffocate under
your eyelids."
Great writing, here. **
Cheered me, which I needed. *
Didn't read this carefully enuf the first time. It cheered me, I guess, because that's what sunflowers have always done--seeing them, hearing their name. Not anymore, thanks to Emily Bertholf's comment in Editor's Eye. I see sunflowers differently now.
Yes to this.