My September Guest

Hunched under the solemn summer sun

And gentle, toying gusts

I assist the pollinators, plucking,

Wavering seed pods that rest in intertwining pools

Of lush, shimmering green

Flipping them into the stream of breeze

That tickles my hair against my clenched jaw

Fingers releasing prickled stems,

Counting off

I’ll be okay, I won’t. I’ll be okay, I won’t.

This is my chosen alternative

I won’t allow myself to gamble on if they love me or not

It’s not my right to know.

They’re happy, all smiles under the star of her matching one

I gave up my chance, as carelessly as the seeds I send flying

Now my mind stays stuck like the rocks

That lay encased in sun-baked river mud around me

Refusing to move on like I once thought I had

Still, my surroundings continue

Just as their carefully written script delegates

The backdrop for a serenely sweet love story

That I opted out of