Meghan Bennett
I am trying to be more lavender, in the early hours
before daylight tries to make me harsh and gold,
too hard to look at when I want to be soft,
filtered and intangible and more like a dream
I pray I don’t forget when night slinks away.
I ask why every song can’t be called a lullaby
when I sing it quiet to myself in the shower,
as I ready for bed, asking myself to let me be lulled
so I can know what it’s like to wake smiling.
Lavender like my sheets, my walls, the flowers
I’ve stolen from the yard with apologies to the leaves
but I want my skin sewn of petals, my roots
to bend but be too wet to snap, the might of vulnerability,
of being so alive I’m not afraid to be cut.
I can find my strength in new glass-bellied boats,
I can bring this sweetness to the next window, prove
the dawn is this color for a reason.
The day begins gentle. In the fade, it ends gentle, too.
I am trying to be more lavender with myself,
for the sake of flowers, unsorry in their brevity,
yet blooming