too late

my mother spent all her younger years handpicking flowers

planting them in my tangled hair

the city didn’t have the same nature

curiosity got the best of me

tall buildings

no curfews

loud music

roots of her love, lost in my hair

I spent all my younger years

running

to prove to everyone that wasn’t like us

that i was just like them

but the city’s flowers have been dried out

the butterflies have turned to moths

and suddenly i’m nauseous

the street lights make everything blurry

and your laugh is too loud

callous hands now unfamiliar

and my mother’s been leaving me flowers on street signs and stop signs

and the ridges on her fingers haven’t touched my tangled hair in years

and i’m left asking god where my

keys are at

where my mom is at

and He reminds me that I left

and everywhere i look

flowers hang at the top of street signs and stop signs begging me to come

back

home

my mother.

a bouquet sits on our porch chair where she once sat

legs crossed

my head on her lap

an empty porch. she is no longer there.