chrysanthemum

when i call your name, i hope it sounds happy.

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when i wake, i hope the sun be gold.

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when i meet my maker, i hope my tears well and flow,

saturated with nothing but sweet conviction, relief, and joy.

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i hope crimson red roses burst feverishly from where i'm lain,

and my virgin white dress be bloodied with pink petal stain.

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i hope my chrysanthemum will, with maternal instinct abound,

circumscribe my peacefulness on the ground.

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i hope ascend with otherworldly lightness.

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i fill myself in wholesome till it tickle brim,

so that although my heart is irreconcilably broken,

it pour and pour goodness to atone for my sin.