I. First Version: Turquoise
If we paint bronze into the earth and water with sunlight, something will grow.
Rooted in earth and soil, I know the taste of minerals. Blue pigment is the sweetest and only bitter if left to its own devices. I love his eyes. The sky reflects his gaze and I know I want my background to be blue. I straighten myself, pulling away from grass as he sets up a canvas.
looking at my petals
I wonder if I could hope to be
From the looks of his grin, I can do more than hope. I’ll shine and follow the sun. I’d follow him to the ends of the earth if it means he would smile. I straighten and he paints my leaves into strength. I tilt my face upward, to catch the sunlight in drops and use it to coat my seeds. I mirror the light in his gaze and hope my petals look particularly glossy. He smiles. I can do more than hope.
II. Second Version: Royal-Blue
Can you drown in your own seeds? I’m sowing fatigue into sickles and reaping wilting hearts.
There is such a thing as too much blue but when thirsting after purpose I forget I can drown
I did not mean,
I did not want,
to worry anyone.
But sometimes it feels like there is too much water seeping into my roots and I might be ungrateful for choking it back out but it is too much.
I feel his heaviness,
the way his feet drag in the dirt,
I’m scared he’ll tumble
I don’t have hands to catch him if he does.
My seeds mimic tears when a dot of paint falls onto my face. He apologizes frantically and despite his trembling fingers he gently wipes the tears away.
He’s so gentle
despite his sorrow.
I lean into his hand. I want him to feel my softness and I want him to know that I wonder if I am drowning too.
Sink or swim
he is my sun.
III. Third Version: Blue Green
Numb. The blue has dwindled and we stand once more but my thoughts are faded.
I can’t think straight.
I can stand straight.
But my thoughts curve into the intangible.
I am his and he is mine.
I know that much.
His tears sting.
Why do they sting?
Salt is bad for open wounds
but my stem is only faded
Green and blue equate to life.
So why do I feel spent?
If I stand too long
I start to doze off.
I snap awake
when he tries to hum the silence away.
but it’s heavier than before.
How can I hope to shine for a sun?
IV. Fourth Version: Yellow
We hope so despair does not swallow us.
Swallowing the sun will burn and burn white hot yellow until insides become ashes and tears turn to shards of salt.
What can grow from ashes?
But why burn something still growing?
Even though I am wilting
and droop like a drop of dew searching for footing
my roots struggle to stand and support,
surely something good
can come from wilting flowers and shriveled petals.
Despite the despair freckling my cheeks and lips
surely the seeds of hope will one day
lead to light.
Will I last to see it?
Only if I don’t burn the roots that itch
Only if I don’t let myself sleep
despite the heaviness weighing me down.
Someone has to nurture the seeds.
Someone has to be strong.
Someone has to try.
Someone has to be enough but
I don’t know how.