she likes the color yellow

shy sunflowers

even in the hot climate,
they all seem to grow.

balls of blossoms
start to form
on their giant stems.
they want to show
their faces,
the bees told me.

i give them water
and occasionally
miracle grow.

they start to bloom,
timid.

they're insecure
and believe
that i'll hate their
yellow faces
and that i'll
yank them from
their root
like i had done
to their cousins,
the bees tell me.

no, how could i?
yellow is my favorite.
sunflowers too
are my favorite.
i was sorry
for their cousin,
but I had to put him
out of his misery.

they need to be proud.

one day,
a bee landed on me,
on my shoulder.
we made small talk
on the weather
and baseball.
he would tell jokes
and i'd tell him some.

i asked him about
the queen bee.
she's fine
he shrugged.
how is your leader.
disastrous and careless.

we cut the crap
let's make a deal.

i tell him that
i need my garden to grow.
i need strength
i need support.
i need to convince
my lovely flowers
to trust me.

he nods
giving nothing away.

he gets down and dirty.
he needs honey.
he needs protection.
he needs flowers too.

holding out his leg,
we shake.

yes, honey bee.
convince my flowers
to stop hiding
and how I will
spoil them.

we can help each other,
nature and i,
we managed to make
a mutualistic
compromise

the petals peek up
and start to open
like an overripe
artichoke.

the bee beams
i mirror him.