blossom

my first children.

ahh, how beautifully, quietly, startingly they blossomed;
the earth laughs in flowers;
I will not forget how they gracefully blossomed into the cold night-sky, nor their violent, inevitable, silencing beauty. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them. every petal had the texture of sturdy silk, every flower trying to be one with the sky; as if their milk-white purity was a temporary but exquisite reminder from mother earth, of her divinity, and their relief in inhaling the soft spring air prickled me into thinking, how would I look if I had blossomed into the weather I belonged?

I will never forget this bouqet, and how my sister tended them even when I was not around, how she smiled every time she smoked and saw them waiting for her, swaying in the wind; for the first time in a long while, we owned something so heartbreakingly beautiful, together. they are such a happy memory for me, these flowers who sprung out of bulbs I bought due to the mere fact that I woke up quite stubborn on a shopping day. thank you for the blessing, mother terre.