Flowergirl on the F (Brooklyn)

The Floating Flower by Denis Dervisevic

A tiny white flower.
So delicate and so white.
It were as if the tiny flower you held as the Brooklyn-bound F rumbled mercilessly through its subterranean channel was cherished and held close in your fingers as though you were engaged in a dreamlike subway photo shoot.

But there was no photographer. Only the tiny camera in my heart.

You noticed probably a few times that I was admiring your beauty.
At one point you smiled at me and the lens in my tiny heart camera fluttered like mad, frame after frame, and I wanted to melt.

You spoke Spanish to a woman who boarded the train in the Lower East Side probably needing directions.
You had a tiny flower.
I only wish I had a chance to hold you with such tenderness.
To touch your petals with my delicate lips.
Will I see you again?

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