Free

I picked sunflowers today.

three people stopped to ask if i had lost my way

as if joy this bright must mean something is erroneous.

As if gathering beauty on a perfect day

were a symptom of a mind that should be caged.

In a hushed room with locked doors–

a place for women who discern far too well.

I smiled, mud on my feet, light in my hands,

and told them no–

this was the path I meant to take.

flower stems scratching at my arms, gold dust

painting my skin.

They think I am unwell.

I must be in mourning, that something terrible

must have happened for me to gather joy

in public.

But, I just like flowers, and walking alone.

I am not lost,

I am simply letting the wildness root itself in me again

letting myself be free while I find my way home.