Blooming of the Orchids

in the valley of orchids,

dipping below as a sternum,

on the back of her Earth, she cries

a sweet breath of indigo 

and scarlet bloom,

to be frozen in the dawn.

thin stalks of burgeoning sweetgrass,

i rub in between my fingers 

littered with gaps, stitching itself back together.

the thin green stalk, repeated verbatim between every creation,

and dusty breeze of pollution.

standing tall after every windstorm, bowing only to reach the midsummer sun.

reborn between the seasonal shifts, a new petal appears in the neon skies

of brass and gold raised pitchers.

holding murky water, clouded by bites of clay and circling the drain.

left to dry over pre-gentrified textiles,

every woven pattern switching between new thread.

By Lauren Goulette

---