The Fieldstone Review

April and My Plastic Sunflowers

The four plastic sunflowers in my bedroom –
The way they swayed in the ceiling fan’s air –
Were the functional-year-long-April for me.

Fallen twigs of meditating winter
And the deadwood sanity of their roughness;
The begging deserts of the patient summer
And the coarseness of their ravaged mirages;
The thin tune of the nostalgic autumn
And the restlessness of their alcoholic breezes
Were never like fresh seasonal fruits to me
For I had the functional-year-long-April in my bedroom:
Those four plastic sunflowers.

Not long, my wedding and divorce –
Both in their infancy –
Ended the perpetual April in my room
By demanding those yellow sunflowers
In the package of reparation.

It was four seasons ago and the spring of April
Now seems to be a creepy plastic serpent
Irresistibly insidious in its illusory cruelty
as my new girl friend from the same city
Talked of bringing new plastic flowers in my room.