A dark rain cloud passed by
Unknown to me
In a time of paramours and mothers.
During a time when my freckles were prominent
Like a constellation in a pale sky
As I skipped in a blazing sun.
I the archivist
I the collector
Of families and specimens
Come upon an undiscovered flower
With orange and dark red paint brush bristles.
Its roots deep beneath a cracked and thirsty land
In search of a well of liquid love.
A flower that should have been found
Long, long ago
By gregarious young explorers
Who grew up before time sped.
Now, solemn anthropologists look at the past
That could have had a cure
Or a succulent scent in a diverse garden
As the flower is cultivated for delight.
But for now-
I step into a blue and wet
Frontier of possibility.
Cara Vitadamo is a registered nurse that enjoys poetry. She has been published in Torrid Literature, All Things Girl, and Mused a Bella Online Literary Review Magazine.