Turn

Tonight while walking I saw

a daffodil sprung alone

along a spar of rotted wood

as though washed there

on tides of waving grass

Between chain-link fence

And the wall it faced

Away from me

Leaned into concrete and braced

Against it’s own shadow.

Rooted in dusk.

Yellow petals paled at edges

as if bled out around it

Onto pools of dark and floodlight

I wanted so badly

For either of us to reach

Back through the dappled gloom,

Bloomed despite our respective cages,

To grant the other a little color-

But then,

Why should a daffodil be different

Than anyone else?

.

About “Turn”

I pass a small rectangle of grass, enclosed by a chain-link fence, on my way to school.

It was a little after 7 pm, early April, and I noticed a lone daffodil growing in the middle of the grass. It caught my attention, not just because it had blossomed before even the dandelions, but because rather than leaning towards the east or some other area of sunlight it was turned toward the thirty foot concrete wall and growing within the shadow of a guard tower. I thought ” I understand” and I watched that daffodil every evening on my way to school as it’s petals began to fall off and it became almost indistinguishable from the weeds springing up around it. I guess I understand that too.