There are still flowers

I saw the chicory on the side of the road, growing out of a forgotten/ broken/ rusted corner of Detroit, and I gasped like: I didn’t think they’d come back.

But they did.

Why was I surprised?

The faded blue earned through long days of streaming sunlight. Hello, hello.

I showed him: look, the chicory came back, and I plucked one blossom to prove and he tried to tuck it in my ear, but the stem was too short, so I said, “Put it here,” as I pulled apart some of my braid.

This morning I felt the crumbled petals fall through my hair in the shower.

Maybe I will put flowers in my hair every day this summer.

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