Becoming a Flower by Jason Fisk

Sitting in the dirt

listening to snow melt

Runoff tickling 

roots as it flowed past

The hot sunlight 

piercing 

rectangular cells

resurrected from 

routine deaths

Renewal like 

an extended yawn 

awakening from

winter slumber

stretching leaves 

toward the sun 

Glowing night sky 

surrounding 

a light fractured moon 

And for once my waxing 

and waning would be  

beautiful

And perhaps being 

without thoughts 

is the best way 

to appreciate the world

I think I would be happy 

if I were a flower

---

Jason Fisk lives and writes in the suburbs of Chicago. He has worked in a psychiatric unit, labored in a cabinet factory, and mixed cement for a bricklayer. He was born in Ohio, raised in Minnesota, and has spent the last few decades in the Chicago area. www.jasonfisk.com