Grown

I am a packet
Of wildflower seeds
Someone gifted you
On Earth Day
Before there was an Earth Day
Ransomed to the purpling soil
Who knows what to expect
Milkweed makes sense
If you want someone to care
For you in your old age
Sunflowers are loyal but
Take up a lot of room
Is that why
Though you loved it
You chopped down the four o’clock?

I would prefer to
Be the empty can ecstatic
On the garage roof across the alley
Stuffing itself with
Prairie wind whilst I
Fingerpaint tolerable memories
Of Queen Anne’s lace and
The rattle of mini-blinds
In that cheap apartment
Like someone’s stealing a bicycle
These rooms are way too full
Of sticky paraphernalia
Busted tires please
Don’t let me be left on the side of the road
Face-planted in the primroses.