HOPE IS THE THING WITH PETALS

Nothing blossoms here except these sunflowers.
Not the hibiscus our mother planted by the orchard,
or these lilies we buried with a prayer.
Only these golden heads, standing with outstretched arms
embracing sunlight.

I plucked one yesterday,
rubbed its velvet against my cheek,
and wondered if yellow can teach me something
about staying alive.
I plucked another before your voice broke out.
When it cracked open, you sounded like
a drum calling back its own silence.
We both turned our faces to the window
and hoped answers would someday fall in with the light.

Today, at dawn,
we laughed like oiled doors on rusted hinges,
swinging open and shut stories of childhood foolishness.
We swore we would sink our fears beneath Agbami—
that river where frogs sang falsetto
as boys drowned things without dying.

At noon, the sun’s heat made you bow to the sand
where you dragged a stick & spelled nothing,
etching lines like someone trying to draw
an escape route without a map.

At dusk, you smeared olive oil on your wrists again,
said it keeps the ghosts from tightening their ropes at midnight.
You looked like a man holding himself by a thread—
fear had teeth, and you were offering your neck.

I didn’t ask questions.
But I’m still here, plucking petals again,
asking if you still believe.

Peace Ogunjemilua is a writer whose works explore nature and narratives rooted in cultural depth. He has contributed articles to magazines and was featured in the Nigerian Student Poetry Prize. He is a Sprinng Writing Alumnus, and he also interns as an architectural writer at Rethinking the Future (RTF). Peace runs a blog called ThinkGreen, focused on sustainable design, and with a background in architecture, he brings a unique perspective to his writing. Aside from reading, he loves graphic art and music.