Marigolds

by the skin of your teeth,

you miss my swing from a flower vase.

i hear the crack of my heart as the vase hits the floor.

orange-yellow marigolds sprawl across like a sea of fire.

the taste of bitter mulch sets in the back of my throat

and the wet stench of straw lingers in the air.

the petals scrape my bare feet and i think

despair feels a lot like you. 

Home.

was my Home ever really in you?

or perhaps it was always

in the pit of marigolds.