green flowers
Poetry • January 2026 • On "Relief" & Its Costs
Some of what I write is heavy. Some of it’s light.
But all of it’s honest.
If you like that kind of space, I’d be honored to have you here.
green flowers
A poem by Drew Gaither, January 2026
she says it helps— maybe it does. yet my words feel less grounded, my body more pounded, my mind—a little more confounded. green here means something different than love’s fear, it’s as simple as the shading of flowers grown queer. chronic pain reframes chronic gains. it’s hard to grow when your soil’s drying faster than a caster with a canister of water—what a foe. if you’re too tired to move you can’t really get in the groove and if the groove is a boom your mind clouds with doom and panic creeps and looms— too soon? what you feed your head is what makes your bed, at least that’s what the doctor, and the guru, have always said. yet those green flowers subtly devour, ‘cause the true med might just be a sheet of paper and a pencil with lead. or a pen… how long will you keep picking those flowers? i know, it’s a lot of willpower to shower and scour.