Needles

Three years ago, when first I woke, I found a small cactus in the corner of the yard as I was grooming my prose. She wasn’t a particularly beautiful cactus, common to the desert gardens. She was blended with the colors of earth, her singular oval body was adorned with sharp guardians.

I borrowed the sun’s fingers and plucked the needles along her curve. Striking her unique, she harmonized the aria of the breeze and taught me how to sing the first verse. I lifted her roots in their wish to kiss the air and tossed her back into the newly turned soils of my plot with care.

We tended time baking in the sun and nourished succulent strength for the shadows next to come. I cried tear rain, washing her clean and felt the power of her rooted veins fill my hollow until we thrived as twins…

connected presence
the am of our blooms
seeding our newest forms

we, each other’s keepers
lay rest and daydream
in our ribbon of thorns

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