This free verse poem is reminiscent of childhood love. It uses figurative language and movement to create a poetic effect.
Coyly stealing away to the garden, young hands brush over ripened flowers, abloom and youthful. Holding dearly to the memory of a lover, an eager mind predicts its flower fortune. “He loves me.”
At last, the chosen sunflower is plucked from its earthy bed and reduced to a heart and stem, the sacrifice for love telling.
“He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me…” One, Two, Three petals, yellow, fall down, down like the hearts of hopeful lovers.
“He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me…”
The final glaring petal stands stoutly from the stem, sharing the fateful news.
The garden’s gravity strengthens, and knees hit the ground harshly followed by the cowardly hands, unable to take the last yellow flake. A finale-less fortune.
The swelling of doubt begins with swirling speculations excusing his follies, pointing instead to the fault of flowers. What could they tell of his feelings? Only half-believing, a forehead crinkles in search for explanation. If it remains on its green body, perhaps the fortune will not be so. Perchance he does love me…but I am the fool, alone in this garden picking on flowers. How could he? How could…he?
A whirl of blue forget-me-nots and yellow he-loves-me-nots flash in tear-filled eyes before the young face sinks in sadness as the game of petal picking turns to convincing. Piles of petals, mounds of fragrant disappointment, press the ground.
If the weight of love were measured in petals, the earth would surely sink ceaselessly into its green crashing waters. Like Atlantis, this sunken world of romance and lost hopes would rest in a watery grave, salty from human tears.
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