Three Sunflowers by Derek Pollard
Not writing
Janvier
Fevrier
There is the candle lit
And burning, there are
The three sunflowers sagging
Against the earthenware cup
Where have we come
To where arrived
At night and in the afternoon
The wind pushes insistently against
The windows of this small apartment
In which I have never loved you
With the violence of one thing
Longing to be another
It is the sound of a vinyl casing
Just before it is forced apart
The glass thudding in the padded
Frame so sudden that I can only
Startle to meet its unexpected
Shudder
There is the candle stand found
Discarded in a drawer in that other
Apartment we once shared
The blue ceramic vase left me
By my lover whose name you have
So often spoken without knowing
And now she and I hold one
Another as if we had been cast out
From our families and must live
In that wilderness everyone has
Forsaken in their rush to proclaim
A new Jerusalem
That burnished place that once
Held such vast promise and is now
Our home, despite our longing
For otherness in all things and in
Ourselves always