Death Blossoms

The pale fog accentuated the stillness o’ the air, ‘long with the remnant stench o’ morning rain.

But every so oft she could hear the snap o’ a bending bough & felt herself shake mo’ than the pink petals she exploited for cover.

Here we saw the give & take o’ the fog: though, she figured, it hid her from… whatever that thing was, it also hid it from her sights, so that all she could do was sweat in the chilly air & listen to the thing’s movements without knowing what they meant–like it constantly screaming, “¡I’m coming, & you can do nothing to stop me!”

They say she’s still caged in that acre-wide cherry blossom net.


Bend, Ikebana, Thing