I was conceived away from the sea and
was born apart from its boundless inspiration;
this much is known.

the lack is isolated, identified, and
investigated between
swaying in counter rhythm
with the willows, longing for brighter days under
benevolent rays of light peeking from its branches;

before relentless chills wither their leaves and
harden the soil surrounding the expanse left open
to explore barefoot in distraction of some
predetermined purpose.

find me dancing in my father’s arms as we
dissociate on the shoreline and dread the drive back home,
but he takes the scenic route
with all the marigold and magenta spread
concealing the roots their leaves are bound to,
every twist below the ground envies its own seeds
as they are stolen by pairs on pairs of wings,
chirping happily as they abduct these helpless offspring into the horizon.

a half of my origin is
harmonizing with the engine,
he does not look at me as I am
tracing characters of some motherless mother-tongue
made visible by the mist on the window,
contemplating the irony of marigold and magenta.

the humming halts across from my finger which freezes
mid-trace, I feel a sudden warmth in expression.
he is looking at me the way the ocean’s low tide
softens protectively around the toddler
waddling into its waves with
bucket and shovel.

I was conceived closer to land and
was born as his reason to stay grounded,
the foundation for seedlings he offers to the skies,
in hopes we will drift to some place where
willow leaves do not fall in the winter;
this is a recent revelation.

two hands intend to release,
yet four hands return to confinement.
I meet his soft eyes again and know,
we are one and the same.

Artist Statement: This poem’s narrator is remembering a bittersweet beach day with their father, reflecting on how small moments of tenderness provide escape from a painful home life. Bloom is represented in their quiet, yet warm bond and the vivid flowers on the drive back, while wither lingers in the inevitability of returning to such hardship. The flower’s natural seed-spreading, growth, and wilting cycle mirrors their own, where natural beauty and decay coexist in their moments together. The poem suggests that small acts of kindness can ground and connect us amidst circumstances out of our control.