(CW: Death)
through the concrete
where he had laid dying
sprang a cluster of flowers
that within a week had
overrun the block,
yarrow through the asphalt
the Monday morning traffic
westward into the city
would make it a few yards
before wheels were
gripped beyond remove,
bindweed and flossflower
suspending the rims,
in a few hours
the vents in the dash
would house
paperwhites and clematis
mowers were first sent by the mayor,
the blades blunted and cracking,
a thawing river, a drifting vein
from the petals, a needle drawn
language of protest and surrender
sung by the growing of the leaves
flamethrowers were sent by the governor,
they burned the block like August,
those watching would sweat
as the flowers swayed
untouched
soon proclaimed prophets
tried to credit the miracle,
the plaques installed,
the murals drawn
would quickly be covered by wisteria
the construction of a new road
diverted traffic from twelfth,
the overgrowth now out of sight,
a confined block of ceaseless blooms
Josh Gaydos is a self-taught poet that currently resides in Denver. He has been published in The Lettered Olive and The City Quill.
Continue to do the thing you love and it will always guide you down the sometimes winding greatest path. Great work. So proud of you.