kopo's flowers / mayari

by Kristoffer Young | From Issue One (Fall 2025)

kopo's flowers

When I visit Kopo, she talks to me about her garden. Her creased smile 

beaming at a version of me six-years-old. 

We discuss gardening gloves, garden gnomes,

fresh water. "Kyle, you need a visor to protect your eyes from the sun!"

Rosy-cheeked, tucking a fresh-picked gumamela in her cinnamon-curls,

she whispers to each flower, "good morning, I love you." 

She gives each petal a gentle kiss.

And they grow.

Mayari

She moves as moonlight. Like an infant swaddled in cool linen.

Like a sister bickering with her brother.

Like a saltwater crocodile on the night of a hunt.

She is moon chased by the sun, reborn in twilight.