Fibonacci's Daughter

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Fibonocci’s Daughter

One turn around the sun

from seedling to sprout.



Two more basking in his gold

rays spilled into me, his warmth.



Three petals opening, gleaming in his pride.

Five more to follow, perfect, in line.



I nuzzled into him, mirrored his burning.

Eight more, luxurious rings

unfurling in his life.



Thirteen, but not mine.

Spirals of love learned,

earned, but borrowed.

For darkness inevitably came.



Now twenty-one, I turn toward him,

but he won’t do the same.

The sun’s abandon,

His child shadowed in shame.



I fade against my borrowed time.

Thirty-four I will not meet,

for my petals too were borrowed light.



The sun masked by shade

He wanted to see perfection

But under his power, I frayed



My light turned to slivers of white

tufts, lifeless and gray

This plight too hard for the delicate.



But in my new feathered frame

I come to know the wind.

It will carry me farther

than the sun’s gaze ever did.



Until I’m unrecognizable,

a disguise of drift and feather.

I’ll bury into soil

Nuzzle there instead.



Until those incandescent beams

Help me start again.



Zero recognition of my muted facade

So he’ll borrow me his light

his life, a petal, just

One more chance.



-A. Song