i may not seem much to you
but in my opinion i am a sunflower
with black roots that stretch a mile deep.

i am the cold eons
between stars of the same
constellation, the building static
between two strangers on a train.

i am forgotten relatives buried in empty graveyards,
the sickly strobe of an ambulance
outside your bedroom window.

so you should fear me—
i don’t look it but my bones are titanium
my teeth go fifteen rows back
and i am too bright to look at full on.

peripherals will do. just know i am the flicker
of lightning on the greening horizon,
the infinite stretch of a garden of roses
and i walk beside and above you always,
a crown in one hand and a dagger in the other.

Emily Gustafson is a graduate of Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota, and has a dual degree in English and Media & Cultural Studies with a minor in Hispanic Studies. She is also an actor, playwright, and nonprofit arts professional living and working in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to demeter

  1. Beau Allen says:

    I could read this a thousand times and never tire of it. It’s antagonizingly seductive. Very well done!

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