daffodil

chlorine of water
squeezing pot
my onion is uncovered
and rot
humid soap, toxic warmth
some whistle. perhaps a song
five minutes of sun in the neighbourhood
maybe one of my leaves is lucky
another turns to a dead-gold

she cuts me
I cry out
do I prefer the bite by a spider?
or turning bold
I drop another.

washed cruelly by chlorinated water
grown over tall
and break my ball
from its ‘’O’’ solar plexus, its centre
my roots are
all rot, soaped, alive


waiting to be saved
either by life or death