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A Few Flowers by Quattrochi


come fast and slow

lately, these days

in the thirsty mornings

or in the sting of lemon tea

on my lips

when I’m on my own at night.


not by the dust of stars

nor in the fire of rockets.

Just a few flowers

in my garden where nothing grows

just a few flowers

among the single fig

of my spring

unnamed weeds

scraggly, unwelcome green

still my green

still my spring.


just a little breath

a little blood

a heart that beats

leaves from tired stems

and grows

the last living petal.

One day they’ll all be gone

in a million forgotten raindrops

that cling to the hope

of a few flowers.


L. Quattrochi is an eighteen-year-old writer with a passion for poetry, painting, baking,

housecleaning, early childhood education, and music. She wants to try and learn a bit of

everything. Having started her literary career by self-publishing (she is the author of a self-published poetry book called Soul Oil), she is now working on a fictionalized

memoir/autobiography. She writes poetry simply because it’s always inside her, and it helps quiet the noise in her head. Follow @lydiaquattrochi for updates on Instagram, and


Ocean of Flowers by Skygasm


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