poem: alana hayes

Golden Flower/ זהוב ורד

It's difficult to feel attached
to a name I've hardly ever heard myself called by.
But I know you're there.
Know you belong to me.
Know you are the only connection I posses
to 2 women whom I have never met,
but my parents felt were important enough to name me after.
Those women have always been a shapeless mist in the back of my mind.
Maybe my parents showed me their picture once?
I don't remember.
And since you are hardly ever spoken,
always out of earshot
and out of sight,
I tend to think of you more like a shadow,
or a rippling reflection in the water.
I know you're supposed to be me,
but are we sure you are?
I've never felt like something that could bloom golden,
though I have to say I like the idea.

about the writer: alana hayes

you can learn more about alana here.