Sunflower, by Aman Arora

Stand tall, with your arm

s stretched high above your head.

You are fueled by the iced brew,

of this morning,

black like your netted tank top.

–breathe in.

Hunch over now, and your hair

falls softly, breezing like

Rapunzel’s braids on a willow.

The flute sings as you will sprout once more.

–breathe out.

To secure your petals would assure

another visit to your meadow of smiles,

but for now, I must refrain.

-Aman Arora