After Texas
With veins that spill the rouge of a cardinal’s feathers,
We reflect the common magpie,
In an attempt to collect all of Earth’s treasures
To prevent them from corroding.
We illegally cut the BlueBonnet blooming at the edge of the cul de sac
Because she’s named after the cap your grandmother adorned
To hide from the sun,
We gather each shell beneath our fingertips and attach our ears fast
To hear the murmur of the ocean,
We tighten the lid on mason jars holding fireflies so as
To capture the stars flying under the oak tree,
We disassemble the very structure of the mountains
To reveal a diamond as our commitment till death.
With all of our hoarded flowers, conches, bugs, and rocks,
We give memory to each
So that they might be enjoyed by another
After we’re gone.
In which, we form a dust that returns
To the soil from whence we took.
Thus, the cycle repeats,
And another magpie is born.
To grant memories to the
Otherwise lackluster trivialities of the world.
We simultaneously take and give the meaning
We seek to see within this short life.