Watch the flowers bloom.
You drop the oppressive walls of your archaic
patriarchal system around me. Strip bare the
solitude, papers, other worlds, gathering dust.
Cotton sheets empty. You let the sun flowers die.
Draining the life from the dying seeds. You place
the wooden cage over me, give me the key,
and dare me to try. Sweetness seeping from your pores,
soothing the empty void. Your voice cold and distant.
You wear the smile of a sore loser. Fine china, cracked,
chipped, you’ll keep going till broken beyond repair.
Blooming beneath the spring sun,
cut down by your rotating blades.
Karen Hayward ©2016.