by JD DeHart
I offered my aunt
the flower I thought was delicate,
but she pushed it away.
That’s a weed, she declared,
and I sank inside.
I don’t remember what I did with
the gift, in my shame, but I do
remember at other times she
warned against running the grass
(for fear a blade would fly up
and put out my eye)
and also warned against
touching the top of the salt shaker.
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He has published poems in Gargouille and Illya's Honey, among other publications.
Pieces Inspired by this Image
'Roses, Dandelions, Teardrops'
'The tick-tick-tock of the clock'