Sunflower

I knew I was bad

When I looked down at my sink

Finally doing the pile of dishes,

And at once I saw the filth on the nozzle,

On the soap dish

On the grout between the tiles on the counter,

And the world seemed dirty and unforgivable,

And I was ashamed for living in such a place,

What with it’s violence and grime,

Which must start with me, it always does.

And I knew I was better when the dirt

and the counters, and the mess,

all seemed like soil for growing

great big sunflowers.

And I imagined myself underground

one wet July, as their roots absorbed me

and spat we upward

towards the pedals

towards the sun.