Sunflowers

A while back

(it seems like ages ago)

I watched

as our car drove by

a field of sunflowers.

How beautiful it was;

a crowd

of giant, stick-thin bodies

reaching their wide, dark faces,

framed by crowns of gold,

to the Sun.

I glimpsed at that slanting meadow

underneath the bright cerulean sky

and imagined

a joyful little girl

running through that pasture

free as a butterfly.

I watched that meadow

a while back

what seems like ages ago.

I feel like I'm back

to that field of sunflowers.

I'm like the girl

who runs in the field

yet I don't run freely.

I'm running

away

away from the crying

"Why did this have to happen to us?"

away from the pricks

"Those little fingers of yours, getting poked every day"

away from the blood

"Good thing I'm not squeamish about the sight of it"

away from the needles

"And remember, don't always inject yourself in the arms"

away from the pain.

I try to escape

making my way through the sunflowers

ignoring the few fleeting moments

of pleasure

around me.

I push through

those sunflowers in my way.

They ignore me -

those jolly wide faces -

looking away business.

They all seem so silly

so ridiculous

so ignorant.

They care about nothing

but their own concerns

while I try to escape

my own prison.

But there's no escape

there's nowhere to go

only fields

and no one to help

only perky, stupid faces.

Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz

I'm running through poppies

to get to the Emerald City.

However there's no Emerald City

no escape

no sunflowers.

It's only some fantasy I pictured

as the car drove by

a while back

which seems like ages ago,

though the notion

of flying freely

like a butterfly

remains.