by Margaret Marcum
She fills every room with flowers except
her bedroom, she doesn’t wear sunglasses
because she loves to see the colors.
She loves everyone as much as she
wishes she loved herself,
she smiles until she’s happy,
she sees everything beautiful,
she keeps her roses alive though
she cuts and keeps them in a glass,
she drinks glimmers of childhood before
the glittering night ceiling of stars,
she dreams of heaven—sees it is always
living inside of her.
Margaret Marcum lives in Texas with her cats, Angel Clare, Alice, Adam, and Mazzy. She recently graduated from the MFA program in creative writing at Florida Atlantic University. Her poems have appeared in Amethyst Review, NonBinary Review, Scapegoat Review, October Hill Magazine, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, and Children, Churches, and Daddies, among others.