We orphans are the flowers
who've wilted and begun to perish
lifeline energy snipped
from our physical world
We astonish our counterparts
who don't know
how to act around us
if we're gonna make it
if we're even worth
trying to save
We orphans adopt a new language
others can't understand
jargon to their ears
yet we still converse
with them in our native lingo
celebrate fertilized memories
of parental grounding
woven thru our tongues' soil
rife with nutrients from their love
watering us with courage
as we sprouted and blossomed our way
thru this dirty plot
that continued to thicken
amid painful growth spurts
brown-thumbs mishandling us
observers blind to our value
careless feet
overstepping boundaries
trampling our good nature
We still hold the knowledge
of their presence
sway with our comrades
in the breeze
among dewy grass
musing over the seeds
that produced our elegance
Until grief Mack-trucks us
we're plowed into code switch
and they're forced
out of the conversation
Admirers gawk at us quizzically
asking our thriving peers
what's wrong with us
how long have we been this way
is this how it's always gonna be?
They say
our grim disposition
and withered leaves
are devaluing the real estate
Can't someone pluck us already?
Paling colors are concerning
Is there any way we can
brighten up?
Have the green-thumbs
tended to us recently
laid healing hands
upon our decaying petals
spoken life back into our nuclei?
Can we be resuscitated?
If not
what are the mandates going forward?
Are we still considered part of the bouquet?
Will we be allowed to continue residing here?
Our roots have died
What's the policy on our positioning
if we're kept around?
Shouldn't we be relegated
to our own section of the patch?
What is anyone supposed to do with us
in this condition?
They label us special needs
question our health-care system
campaign against
our unpredictable behavior
vote No on our chances
for survival
But our horticulturist
assures doubters
even though we're weeping
souls mollywhopped
by our creators' absence
we're not detrimental to the garden
there's plenty of life
left in our cells
rejuvenation is highly probable
with deft approach
lil sugar in their tone
respect that we may now
be off balance
awkward lean to our stem
lotta patience as they gently
support its posturing
assist with
pruning spiritual debris
prepping us for resurrection
within this story's fated twist
where
the sun can reenergize us
chlorophyll ferociously slurping its rays
as we breathe again
steady and sure
make an unexpected comeback
and be beautiful enough
to turn heads
like never before
©2024 Charlene E. Green
From my upcoming book Check My Documents
