Self History As Victorian Flower Bouquet by Ellora Lawhorn
As Crocus I was youthful glee.
Quiet but curious, trying everything and sparing nothing. Jumping
into pools with no knowledge of depth and no instinct to paddle. Learning
everything I could get anyone to tell me, and not giving
up when answers were refused. I was the first to emerge
from the winter, the earliest bloomer.
As Lavender I was distrust, shunned one too many times after I sprang
in too eagerly, too whole. Several times bitten, shy
forever, scent alluring and mysterious. Shooting you a smile
across the room but giving the cold shoulder to small talk, or big talk.
Felt so strongly that I shut my feelings away, proclaimed I didn’t have any.
Swayed in the fields by myself,
by myself.
As Holly I was foresight, with all my visions
(Cassandra of the deep woods)
I could consider myself Holly still.
I foresaw what I feared, convinced myself
I would be left until I made it so.
Cassandra of the Tundra.
Cassandra all alone.
Scared at every whistle of wind, every moment
the hand holding her had to pause became a betrayal.
Maybe I only call this past to make the distance grow larger.
As Queen Anne’s Lace I am sanctuary, a shield, a nest, shade
from whatever seeks to pluck from the tall grasses.
Though I shield, dangers are still near,
for that is what a sanctuary is.
I never claimed I was perfect. I never claimed I was better.
The shield still has holes, and if you squint, it might just look
like a net to capture, to keep against will.
Throw it on the ground, trap a rabbit
underneath.
The twitch of a cottontail is no match for steel.
As Freesia I will let go, will be attentive
to your desires. Will admit it took
my Lavender self years to learn you were considerate
with mine. I will trust that you will stay
within my field when I do not hold you captive.
But if you choose to go, I will wish you well, and I will pluck myself a bouquet.
“This piece felt too autobiographical, with not enough lyrical metaphor to connect the Victorian Language of Flowers to my own life experience. I received feedback that I should incorporate more repetition, but I found nowhere to plausibly do so, and the whole thing kind of sputtered out.”
Ellora Lawhorn (she/her) is a queer writer from Northeast Ohio, USA. She has been writing poetry and stories since she could hold a pencil, and often writes about mystery and trauma. Her instagram is @ellrosewrites.