rose quartz
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What then of the silt, the polyester flower
with its small yellow leaves? What of the black Mini Coop and the chef jacket double breasted and the sunflowers wilting and the coffee too creamed? This morning, I curled into the heat of your stomach, and just basked there, wishing for that hot lazy sleep to keep on. I’ve resorted to real sugar again, this oatmeal too sweet. Saccharine, word I always hated, especially when it came to writing. Step right to the edge of sentimentality, then turn around—my favorite advice. What then of the way our bodies curve into each another without thought? Artificial light and touch, these granules in cloud-grey glow, crystals no, marbles collected in a wooden bowl, take my rocks and keep them safe, a friend said without saying. So I dug and dug on a hike in Breckenridge, unearthed another. Added it to the pile. Poems don’t save us. This was always a lie. Still, I’ve kept so many. |
Vincent van Gogh. Sunflowers, 1887. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
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Maryam Ghafoor is from Illinois. Her work has been published in Barnstorm Literary Journal, and she has poems forthcoming in American Poetry Review. Her Master’s thesis won the Distinguished Master’s Creative Work Award from Purdue University in 2017. She currently works as an English Instructor at Purdue.