Her Aster: A Story in Verse

Hey everyone! Another Monday, another blog post. Last week I wrote this story in verse and I am pretty proud of how it turned out. Typically the poems I write follow a rhyme scheme, are all pretty short and don't really follow a storyline. So I did just the opposite with this story in verse!

Some things to know before you read it: it's very short, will only take you a couple of minutes to finish, it's historical fiction - see if you can guess the time period, and it's from the point of view of something not human.

Scattering the sidewalks, 

Hanging from window boxes, 

And spread elegantly throughout the field, 

We’re what they forgot all about.  

We’re the allure, the beauty,

That they miss but can’t quite place why.

The bombs that shattered the churches, 

Apartments, 

And yes, fields, 

Also shattered us.

Since apartments are so much more important 

They don’t seem to notice.  

The flowers have disappeared.  

I wave in their directing along with the wind, 

Trying to get them to care.  

They just pull their sweaters tighter around shoulders,

Force hats tighter on heads,

And hurry on faster than before

Like the cool September breeze is trying to harm them. 

They have forgotten what it is like to 

Smile

Into the wind

On their way home from work. 

Or notice the cats sunbathing and balancing on handrails 

Or the marigolds, shrub rose, and asters

That line the walk.

The cats may no longer wish to spread themselves

Serenely out right now. 

They may hide just like the people

In houses or inside alleys and crates to escape the noise 

The explosions. 

It’s all the same to a Bellflower

When you look for one thing long enough 

You are bound to find it, that’s what they say.  

I no longer think that is true.  

Yesterday a child came crawling towards me. 

A girl of about five. 

I knew she could walk, but she looked like she just wanted to feel the clovers 

Under her knees and palms. 

There are not many places where that is possible.  

She was alone, 

Dirt streaked her cheeks and her dress looked to be about two sizes too big.

It was faded to the point that no one could know what color it had originally been.  

The color had been wrung out of it, like it was needed somewhere else.  

Who else would need a bit of color besides this child? 

With short jagged hair, 

Bruised knees and elbows. 

And who’s completely alone.  

It was only when she sat up on her knees, 

A purple aster 

Clutched gently in her fingers, 

When I noticed she was no more a girl 

Then a walking skeleton.  

Her cheeks so caved in that it looked like she had spread dirt over them 

But it was only a shadow.

I wouldn’t have guessed it in her to bring the flower up to her cheek 

And brush it over her skin.  

And then she laughed. 

Just as the wind blew the flower to wave ecstatically towards her.  

She didn’t laugh for long,

With her head tilted toward the clouds.  

Before that, I had wondered if she even had the strength to smile.  

I thought that laugh would fill me up, 

Up to the brim with bliss

I thought I would be alright just then

I thought I would survive on that laugh.  

But I was wrong.  

That laugh was a mistake. 

They came quickly, 

The juxtaposition of the two worlds scared me.  

The girl happily holding a purple flower, 

That purple should have been the color of her dress,

I see it now.  

And the men in dark clothes and angry voices, 

They were going to hurt the people, 

Not the September wind. 

Grabbing her they yelled, 

And she screamed, 

I wouldn’t have thought she had that in her either.  

I wish she didn’t scream, 

I wish she left me with the memory of her laugh only, 

Now I can not think of the laugh 

Without the scream.  

But before the scream, she dropped her flower.  

It was almost like she screamed, not because of the men 

Pulling her away, 

But because of her flower,

Her beautiful Aster, 

Was gone.  

You wish for something enough and it will come

That’s what they say 

But I always wished for the laugh

And never the scream.  

So why did it still come?  

Why did it overpower the laugh so much?  

I will wait some more, 

To see someone laugh 

Or even smile. 

 

But not so fervently.  

For I will never remember that laugh

Without the scream right after.  

Thank you for reading! What did you think? Comment below your answers to the questions I asked at the beginning!

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