(feb 22 2014)

saturday at the conservatory

there are no poppies here and yet i feel as if the orchids are all lulling me to sleep. i could stay here forever, among the tchaikovsky and the aloe vera plants.

there's a boy walking around with tattoos of thistle on his arm, itself a pale branch exposed by hiked up sleeves. there are flowers on his bag.

i'm sure my lipstick has dried up. the iris on my arm has dried up. the boys have all gone but the families remain, leaving traces of breath with constant flashes from their cameras. there is an orange tree in front of me; i forgot such things have the capacity to sustain life.

 i forgot i do, too.

i'm surrounded by the fountains and for once i don't want to drown--

i want to bloom.