Two Poems by Beulah Vega



Chrysanthemums


Chrysanthemums bloom as all else
falls giving hope to some that our
world is not 
dying

Large orange globes peer up,
so like the October moon, lighting
the fields of chaff being 
gleaned by ravens.

Chrysanthemums lack the 
showy youth of the daffodil
brashly pushing up through 
frozen ground to reclaim the 
land for flowers everywhere.

They lack the heady scent
of the mature summer rose
as it calls to lovers on warm breezes
pulling them together over
it’s beauty.

They do not glory in the slumber of
the denuded oak as it stands tall
and barren through the long winter
showing its strength through
it’s transparency.

No, Chrysanthemums 
are an invitation to welcome
endings. They are the hope inherent in
desiccation, the peaceful promise of
mortality.

Their life is a brief moment of
brilliant amber imprint on the memories
of centuries, across a harvest sky.
A fiery reminder that there is
beauty in transitions.




If tomorrow started without me.

No flags would lower
No mass gathering of strangers
No dimming of the sky or sun
No despair on any level that could 
shudder deep within the earth and 
shake any out of complacency.
None of it. For I
was never that important.
In the vast emptiness of multi-versal
space I am merely a billionth of the atoms,
momentarily holding their breath before 
exploding again into stardust or
sand. Most people will never know
my name will never see my tears will
never taste my famous 
macaroni and cheese. 
And though I was born without
the longing to see another sunset or
to live through the darkness for another
sunrise - nevertheless -
I will try and be here tomorrow.
Because I know that in the billions of people
on this Earth who will never know or care
that I existed - at least one - will be 
devastated by my loss. And long ago
I promised to never make you cry.


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