purple blossoms

on slow days,
worn feet treading across cracked sidewalks,

(on days like these,
the sky seems to splinter into two
as the world around swallows me,
while the turmoil of everything and nothing
consumes me)

i find solace in purple tears
drifting from the outstretched hands
of steady fixtures in our lives
who grieve and smile with us,
common yet unique,
ignored yet acknowledged,
quiet beauty in what is near us,
they find their homes
on streets, in backyards,

(in my heart)

as purple blossoms flutter
from rough tree bark
into my hands.

near my home and wherever i go, trees with purple leaves (or are they blossoms? they are blossoms in this poem because they remind me of blossoms – not that leaves don’t deserve to be pretty (they do) but it seems more appropriate to be blossoms, for at least today) always make me feel at home. they are beautiful (even though they are common) and remind me that there is always something beautiful around me or in me, even when it rains or when the sky is not clear or when the world is consuming me. it is a small reprieve from the harshness of society and the coldness inherent in some people.