1.6180339887…
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
Avril Song 