By Kea Yoshinaka, TIWP Student
I woke to scattered light across my comforter,
an elegant ballet of sunbeam dancers,
the tinkle of piano keys
swirling through the air.
And the scent of blooming poppies
rushed gracefully through my mind
looping down my lungs.
I opened my mouth and let a bouquet spring up.
Daisies, lavender, tulips.
We make eye contact.
I wonder if your lack of response equates to a lack of interest.
A tree! I think. I’ll make a tree for you!
For you, I could make a tree.
This is going to hurt.
The roots run out of my nostrils,
branches from my sockets.
You stare back at me
my feet rooted in the ground.
I became a tree for you.
And I’ll crack down the center
when the slightest of storms begins,
the only thing taking up space in an open field.