about my old high-school principal

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.  

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