there’s a strong wind blowing

She liked the anatomy of daffodils.  Flowers, really – all of them.  She liked pulling them apart, fingers as tweezers, eyes magnified with fascination.  She thought maybe she’d find the golden ticket of subways there – a lifetime pass, just 4 stops west to a new life.  She watched the sap lick closed her nailbeds until her fingers wouldn’t get unstuck from stems.  She braided dandelions into halos of nature and nurtured it onto her mane. Seeds in the wind made her travel to different continents, all the spidered subway maps and token booths and colours in your eyes.

Did you know that sometimes even if two flowers are white, and they inseminate another flower’s pod, that flower can turn out pink, or red, or blue, or yellow yellow red?  It’s weird; like she could birth cultures from her womb. The subway tokens in Cairo used to slit her fingers, so she stopped using them and moved away.

Cultures show that she was infertile, except all the other synonyms of that word are seasoned: barren, arid, unfruitful.  Nothing human about it.

She liked the anatomy of daffodils.  Flowers, really – all of them.  She liked how they couldn’t say, “I know how you feel.”

-Arina

PEE.ESS.  Listen to Strong Wind by Peter Ellman here while you read this.

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