Bougainvillea Blues

Bougainvillea Blues

I want to be consumed.
I want to be free.

I want to displace what you call courage with a void.
I want to avoid.
The Bougainvillea dreams to stroke the sun
Inside she is learning to speak, another victim of language arrives.
Discover words but never draw on them to share what you perceive.
They are not ours to keep.
A smile here, a lesson there.
When did it get so convoluted?

We spoke of planting seeds to watch them mature.
Some burst from the soil and reach upward,
eventually we all revisit the earth.

I am uncertain.
Which direction I am headed?
I have felt an ache for the clouds for as long as I can remember,
but these days sometimes, earlier than I expected, I feel gravity’s pull,
a nagging debt that refuses to dwindle.

Freedom?
A myth.
We are never unbound from other people’s expectations:
Father, husband, friend, son, teacher…
Be yourself we instruct the class,
but we never inform them that no one wants to recognize that person.

I want to be consumed.
I want to be free.