The Sunflower

 The Sunflower

The first thing I notice when I look close

honing in with my attention

is all the little holes in the leaves.

What has been eating your leaves,

tall yellow-faced flower? What

tiny thing has been making

windows in expanses of green?

You don’t care. You stand tall,

your round yellow head held high

crowned with untidy, abundant petals

as if you had just tossed it – but no,

you have been turning it slowly

to find and drink the light,

moving invisibly on your strong stem.

Your top leaves stand up behind your head 

like protectors, guarding your back,

close in, at the ready, alert 

and trembling very slightly

with the thud of my writing….

Ten days later, though, you hang your head

permanently, no matter what I do.

No matter how much water

I pour into your tall vase,

your frill of yellow petals

(faintly browning) hangs in place 

like the tracks of slow tears. 

Above your lowered head, 

your sepals jut like a crown of thorns.

Shared at my own prompt, Pay Attention, for Weekly Scribblings #83 at Poets and Storytellers United. Most of this poem was written in a LitChix workshop on August 7th, as discussed in the Weekly Scribblings post; the final nine lines, beginning 'Ten days later ...' were indeed written ten days later.