Its yellow flagged me
down from the kitchen
window while drying
breakfast dishes. A bold
lone splash of mustard,
green leaves flared wide,
it didn’t mind being
shorter than the lemon
tree. The marigold waved
in the breeze, grounded,
proud, open wide,
looked up despite all
that could crush it,
instead, reaching up,
Gonna grab the sun.
—
Sherilyn Lee’s writing has published in Brevity, Common Ground Review, The Rockhurst Review, Emerge Literary Press, and Nonwhite and Woman: 131 Micro Essays on Being in the World, an anthology from Woodhall Press. She has been a Juried Poet for the Houston Poetry Fest, awarded the Westmoreland Poetry Prize, and a residency at Dorland Mountain Arts. She lives in Southern California.
