I never considered myself to be
a flower. I was always plain, a weed
in everyone else’s flowerpots,
a weakling, a sprout that never
quite received enough sun to
grow. People would tell me I was
wrong, to see myself how everyone
else did, but nothing changed.
I was a barren countryside,
a meadow scorched after
a wildfire, though everyone
around me was vibrant.
Then, out of the blue, I began
to notice the details. which
had seemed mundane. I started
to see the colors in myself,
and the sunlight began
to stream through my blood.
I never considered myself to be
a flower—but now I think I do.


By Jordan Prochnow


Hands being my guide
Once very useful
Hands are careful, calm, and steady
Now riddled with pain
Barely able to write
My mind tells me one thing
My hands say another


By Brian Dibley



Boyish Joy

to touch
boyish joy

Today beautiful disappeared
& wonderful appeared
& flowers dreamed
& silver dove called
& I did follow

Laws prohibit and destroy
private persons


From "Word on the Street"
Installation at Denver Center for the Performing Art
August 2016

Under My Feet

Pavement defines city.
I grew up without
parking lots and sidewalks
to keep me on the path,
restrict growth of grass and trees.

False security, not always
navigable for the absent minded,
cracks keep me wary. Don't
fall like I once did, bruised,
learned to look down.


By Karen Douglass