Sunflower

Needs Revision.

I had always dreamt of growing a sunflower.

Each year my mother dug in her favorite planter box,

Pulling weeds and shoo-ing birds, watering daily.

Dad was reluctant to let her back into the house.

Her arthritic knees were painted in mud, and her

Bouquet's harvests brought in hitchhiking insect guests.

In spring I helped her carry in the seeds that would

Soon surround our lawn and fill every room in the house.

I didn’t mind the floral clutter, but still I wanted a sunflower.

I once saw a field with stalks as tall as I was,

With their yellow heads stretching toward the summer sun,

Their seedy grins calling hello and hearty leaves waving.

That day I bought seeds of my own, tilled the soil,

And planted them in Mom’s favorite planter box.

I winced as I weeded out the morning glories.

That summer felt like the longest there was,

As I awaited a sprout, a fruit of my labor.

Autumn brought aster, crocus, but no sunflower.

As the garden faded with the year, only grass

Survived. Winter rains brought the parched soil back to life,

So by this time next year, I might have my sunflower.