CREEPING DISTRESS.

a flower blossoms

in a cardboard box

in the center of

a messy living room.

the leaves tendril

and the petals fall

in dirtied sunlight

like broken faith.

it longs for water

but finds blood instead,

from biting on its tongue

so the other could speak.

the moon will rise

under clouds of marijuana

and the box will close

and flower will shrink

and shrink

and shrink

and shrink

and shrink

until come morning,

you find it pressed

between the pages of

a Bible

crushed against verses

that promise it

a better life,

a better garden.

Author's Note

I've been sick the last day or so, as well as my husband, so it's been a bit. Here's a small write so you know I have not died.

Reviews

[Vol]

Emunah,
Only with poetry can tragedy be beautiful. I wonder if all the love poems ever written were gathered in one place, what percentage were comedies and which were tragedies?
Vol

[Brandon Houser]

A sad and beautiful claustrophobic picture. This will linger on long after you read it.

[Michael Sun Bear]

What a sad poem! And Emunah, what message are you sending to us with “so you know I have not died?” Please write me dear, privately, let me know what’s going on. I found that very alarming.

[Emunah June.]

I hope sad doesnt mean bad!

I messaged you my dear friend.