by Kendra Jeong-Espinosa She never saw the marigolds, the blooms that grew today, Releasing airy flecks of gold that rose into the grey; Their petals in the sunlight burned and then, as ash, to earth returned As if to leave
The Watcher
Once upon a midnight dreary, as I labored, dull and weary, Through a tiring routine performed a thousand times before— There I stood engaged in tending to my basic needs unending And the idle minute spending on the odd quotidian