A Blue Petal

Empathy’s hard.  You don’t really know enough,
or, if the one detail you do know is eating sugar
sandwiches, it might be equal parts nostalgia and neglect.

Or, if you leave your fake comfort zone
to enter the fly-specked buzzy world,
what if you don’t come back?

What if, at the border, you confuse yourself
with a river?  Your back splits into yellow
black-edged wings? You collide with a blue petal?

What if that morning glory is sentient?
Waits for weeks to open like her sisters
and then, on her day, it’s a thunderstorm.

You can’t even find her now.
You don’t know if she’s that purple thumb on the fence
or invisible on the ground in slick black earth.