daffodils rise from the ground
i look for my heart to turn,
figuratively, into a garden
the painting where the anatomically accurate heart
sprouts flowers.
metaphorically,
there are no more metaphors
to make
to mask the monster
domesticated to my head.
death seduced me to its bed.
the pinecones crack open
but a new tree never grows,
a thousand matches lit the wick
but the lantern never glows.
Zoe Golden
Durango
