My daughter tells me that she stepped
onto an airplane built to look like paper.
In the middle, a tiny tree.
She says, I don’t know why it was there,
but I love a tiny tree.
Last night I nearly stole a motorcycle
though I don’t know how to ride.
It was purple. Vintage, I knew,
fingertips to handlebars
waiting to be caught.
Long ago in my mother’s dream
I was a talking horse.
Still today when I visit the farm,
stomping hooves, living there.
In the gravel a yellow bloom
like an upside-down bell.
Every time I try to guess its name,
it closes its petals.
Micki Blenkush is the author of Now We Will Speak in Flowers published by Blue Light Press. She was selected as a 2017-2018 fellow in poetry for the Loft Literary Center’s Mentor Series program and is a 2015 & 2019 recipient of grants awarded through the Central MN Arts Board, funded through the McKnight Foundation. Micki’s writing has appeared in numerous journals including: Josephine Quarterly, Typishly, Cagibi, and Crab Creek Review. She lives in St. Cloud, Minnesota and works as a social worker. mickiblenkush.com
See more of her work in 3.1 and 4.3 and 5.2 and 6.1 and 6.3 and 7.2 and 9.1 and 9.1 and 9.1