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For Sivan in The Office

By Michael Roque

Copyright ©2024

Petrified on the dust-caked windowsill

collapsed outward from the entrapping mundane 

My new favorite flower neglected

Brittle but with beauty still recognized

Your limbs quiver to the touch and reveal in every shared minute

Hidden beneath your dry soil 

Are deep roots thirsting for moisture

But you give not a single clue on how much water you need

I’m no professional gardener

Just a man with a hose and faulty common sense

I point my nozzle over your head and contemplate an angle to spray

God, I don’t want to flood and drown you

But I couldn’t bear sprinkling only a few drops 

Day by day

Fating my flower to a prolonged death

You cry for growth

I beg for nourishment

Preceding all and what’s most needed

Is faith

In my spray

In the sun and time

And the hope that I can give enough to see you bloom

There’s fruit you were born to bear 

And I have a sense destined for something to savor


How much sun exposure will give you comforting warmth?

When does my shine scorch your petals?

You’re so close to growing

I can taste your flavor

sweet and succulent 

A tasteful reminder of the produce I used to love

The bites

Explosions of euphoria 

The satisfaction

You can give me a burst of spring to the brain

Summer sizzle to the tongue

A richness that’ll never grow from my own hand

What’s a piece of fruit if not to be enjoyed?

What's the good of a mouth if not to engorge?

Fruit has the mouth

The mouth has the fruit

We aren’t starving in the malnourished world tonight

But tomorrow’s meal you cannot promise

About Michael Roque:

Michael Roque, a Los Angeles native now residing in the Middle East, embarked on his writing odyssey amidst the bleachers of Pasadena City College. His literary voyage has traversed continents, gracing the pages of esteemed publications such as Aurora Quarterly, Veridian Review, and CascadeJournal. 

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