Read Poem: The Wind, by Kaiya Hodge

She came in from the west
left seeds upon my breasts,
little seeds that sprouted
with the salty rain that came next.
They thrived off the sour streams
that flowed like a waterfall down my throat.
They grew around me,
feeling like an old moth-eaten coat,
receding with the seasons.
The sprouts like ivy and vines
wrapped around my heart,
providing shelter from the incoming
pounding rain.
They created a shield
keeping me from hearing when
the cliffs would call my name.
The vines and ivy soon sprouted flowers;
bright red poppies,
roses that slowly turned white.
All around my shoulders,
the little blossoms sprung
favoring the left,
where the soil was raked the most.
I take care of my flowers
my life depends on them;
they are the last string tying me to reality
and grief.
I love my flowers
I cherish them every day.
I brandish them to the sun
for no reason other than to shame the moon.
For the moon is the mother of wind
and the sun is the father to rain.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest