“Buried” By Annika Bajaj

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

Yesterday, I planted a seed

In my front yard, beside the rose bushes.

I dug it a grave, buried it in mulch,

Stood vigil over its silent form.

Flowers gathered together and bent their blooms

In my garden of grief.

Bees wiped away pollen tears,

Ferrying the future onward

Even as I stood and mourned its loss.

This morning, flowers open their eyes

Blink away the night’s watery dew

Running down our cheeks. We watch

With smiles that shimmer in the sunlight

As a sprout waves up from the soil.

Annika Bajaj is an eighteen-year-old poet and short fiction writer from Lexington, Massachusetts. She's currently in her first year as a neuroscience and psychology major at Amherst College. Annika spends her free time playing violin and singing, baking, organizing her packed calendar, and pampering her labradoodle, Sana. She is most inspired by the calm beauty of nature.