Abbie Russman
CONTRIBUTOR
Flowers strewn about
Thrown away
Trampled on.
Crushed
Damaged
Torn
Broken.
Some are singular petals,
Some are buds.
Some are whole,
Or missing such a small part that they fill in themselves so that they appear complete,
Even though their hurt is still an unpleasant presence.
A child comes
To gather them all,
To pick them up,
To dust them off.
Crushed
Damaged
Torn
Broken
It doesn’t matter.
They unite
To form a crown
A beautiful, whole crown
Interwoven with such a diversity of flowers
That it seems as though new ones are blooming
Amongst the ones who came
From a shattered world.
A flower crown for the child,
A newly coronated queen.
