Featured Poem or Prose

Mindful of Sunflowers

after Sylvia Plath      

by Cary Hamlyn

 

The sunflowers are too brazen. It is muted here;

see how pastel everything is, how orderly, how hemmed-in.

I am learning patience, sitting by myself, meditatively

as the sun strokes these windows, this chair, this face.

I have given up my mind to fullness- the ebb and flow of cognitive tinnitus.

I am trying for a mystical makeover.

 

The sunflowers are too yellow, they stun me.

Their big heads mount the fence, staring, their black Cyclopean eyes

boring through the foliage like schoolyard bullies.

Their beams seek out my core, they communicate.

Ephemeral, yet they linger, measuring my worth,

ruffling me with their blunt verdict and yellow callousness.

A gaudy group of line-dancers, shunning me,

turning their heads away, toward the mid-day sun.

 

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