Sunflowers crowd the driveway
their big round faces
like children grown too tall too fast.
Seeded in March to become in August
the reminders of a memory, top heavy
now they stand for one who loved them
specially, who gave them meanings—
“leave some for the birds,” and
“this good oil will heal,” and
“Fermat’s spiral is a golden ratio,” and
“always seek the light”—
who herself became, too far, too fast
a memory. Too soon the after of before.
Sunflowers in the driveway cannot know
they mean all that, and more. Much more.