Daisy

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If I was a daisy

in a sun-breezed meadow,

one among millions

and my kids were looking

to find me,

drawing near,

their voices louder,

then growing fainter,

exasperated, searching,

maybe even giving up.

 

If I was searching for myself,

and couldn’t distinguish

or describe me well enough.

Would it matter

after this season is gone?

Do I know any season

but this one?

 

I converse with my neighbors,

blossom and sway

according to nature’s rhythms,

sharing stories

of how our children

try to find us.

Their frustration

so adorable,

like every generation

before them.

 

We blanket the hillside,

carpet the field,

each lost among

so many flowers,

blending with all the others,

I’m right here,

among a mass of daisies.

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Voice Recording