Bougainvillea

Ugly brash pink
Rising irreverently
Promiscuously
Along cactus hedges
That held us in
And the dogs out,
adding thorns of her own
she smiled in the hot sun
And all that we could see
were the gaps in between
The bougainvillea
Was never the one we brought home
When we came back from play
Our arms full of posies
Or even tall grass
Before it turned to hay.

Yet she smiled upon us brazenly
The unwanted crone
Sidling along the edges
Of someone else’s home
She grew greedy,
Grasping every stick or stone
You could almost see her eyes glint
But no, that was just the sun that shone
And when it burned bright
Burning everything in sight
Even the tall grass
Was turned, as if in blight
She stood there brazenly
Taking the whiplash of heat
Glowing, growing along her thorny stalk
In multicoloured depravity.

And so the years passed
As season’s flowers fell
The first to wilt and break our hearts
Were the delicate ones tended so well
The only one that stood it’s test
Was her hot headed bounty
That beat the rest
Come rain or cruel sunshine
It stood tall, holding its mane
Of a riot of colours for me to hold
A carpet of flowers daily to fold
into my newly woke toes that curled
to pick up that flower paper thin
Yes, the one that would not give in
It burned bright in my palm
It’s white flower faced me without a qualm
It stood for itself, fallen or picked
And suddenly, I knew. I knew all that I had missed.

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