Smoke Like Daffodils
She takes a long pull on her cigarette
the smoke tastes fresh like daffodils
and she remembers the time when she was a girl:
morning in summer--
lemonade sun with its ochre-white slant,
yellow-green grass and dew under her feet.
It was her wondering what yellow tastes like;
she placed the petals in her mouth.
And now, she is saying out loud
It’s always been the yellow flowers.
And now, she is exhaling,
aspirating the memory,
wishing for once she could be again
just once, again, a girl,
with daffodils in her mouth
tasting yellow for the first time.