you sell bouquets by the side
of the road. every morning
i drive past your shop, & angelicas,
hollies, sages, & chrysanthemums
lay intertwined. if i roll down
my windows, the sweet
sticky scent wafts
inside the car & perches
upon my neck. i breathe
in. drive towards my old
school, praying that the a.c.
won’t wash their perfume off
my skin. in class: doodle bushy
eyebrow-eyes, munch
upon packets of stolen
chocolates. in these corridors
of covid-infected hunger,
i survive. stomach eating
itself, fingers failing
to rise. often, i bring my wrist
up to my nose. imagine: your
field of oranges, hydrangeas
braided in my hair. because
of you / there’s a future for me here.
