Day 29: Petals

Today’s prompt is to write about gifts and a curse you were born with.

The film reel of the morning I was born
was screened and re-screened for me
in story. In sudden colours, like Oz.
My old parents: awed, tiptoeing

in an absurd blue sky, afloat
amidst swooning fuchsia petals
and colourized birdsong.
Their 1940s grayscale

gone ‘80s pink in a flash—
airy as bubblegum
breathed into liftoff.
They bundled me

and rebundled me
against the April sunshine.
Hovered around my breathing.
Wished they could just

breathe for me, to be sure
I would not be burdened.
They made a wooden shield
to keep me safe from TV radiation.

They gifted me with the conviction
that I caused the rhododendron to bloom
into red balloon bunches every April.
That I was the sunshine.

And sometimes I find myself hovering
around my breathing. Checking
and re-checking petals. Noticing
their fragile way of rising, falling, returning.


  1. Sonia Dogra · April 29

    What a colourful, visual treat of your childhood. Soft as petals.


  2. Manja Maksimovič · April 30

    “They gifted me with the conviction
    that I caused the rhododendron to bloom”

    Ahh!!! ❤ They could do no better. Glorious.


  3. hlp43 · May 8

    Just read your poem…oh my! It brought back memories of those wonderful times and I chuckled at how excited ( and anxious) we were. Lovely


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