When I grow up I want to be a rose
I want them to compare my roots to trees.
My branches too. I’ll be on the cover
of all the magazines. Pages with
just the word blossom.
When I grow up, I want the shade
I provide to shield everyone from
the harshness of mid-day light.
I want nostrils to open wide in
anticipation of my arrival.
When I grow up, I’ll never
run out of fruit. The hungry and
the righteous will walk in my circles.
The rebellious too. Though their actions
will make them stumble.
When I grow up, anger will be
only temporary. Love, forever.
My foibles will be considered texture.
My sins, tossed into the ocean.
When I grow up, if I grow up
It’ll be like Woodstock again.