It’s summer again. I scurry through the floral garden full of butterflies to pluck
an orange memory father gifted me on my last birthday party.

In the birthday card, he wrote: Dear boy, be a flower and keep blooming & beaming
like the ray of a sunshine even if it rains until the earth can no longer swallow.

& I swear to God, I’m trying to be the fresh flower he requested, perhaps, I could beautify each side of his grave & make him special & different from other ghosts in appearance.

I’m learning how to photoshop gaiety in my soul that whenever I seek bliss, I smile at the sun & its smile reflects on my cheeks like the sea mirrors the vastness of heaven.

Mother tells me to add two wings to my shoulders in order to be an angel of brightness
to swallow every darkness that tumbles in my dreams.

Trust me, I’m not going to be an ordinary angel, I will try to hold hands with the holy spirit that whenever mother taps me awake, I will wake up in God’s ministry.

At the dinning table, flowers are beginning to grow in my wings
& miracles are beginning to unfold like a prayer session.

& my greatest dream is to be a new song in God’s vocal cords
that whenever he says be, it shall be.






Photo by cottonbro from Pexels