the thistle and the rose

today i didn’t think of death, 
today i awoke and i appreciated the sun warming my face and the clean air on my shoulders lead only to connotations of your breath and i felt safe. 
i thought of you, 
of your quiet curls and your iridescent eyes. 
I pictured a woman almost a stranger to me but the woman who gave me this life. 
i breathe in harsh cigarette smoke and sip my sweet tea and wonder how things of such difference taste coexist so beautifully. 
and i think of my father, 
of how you were a rose and he a thistle
how something so soft and gentle could love something so sharp and seemingly unkind. 
i lay in bed and through my window i watch the sun dance through the sky. 
darkness slowly ensues and I swear I hear you whisper of overwhelming pride. 
breaking the still tranquility to speak of your daughter. 
a young woman who teaches kindness and courage. 
the story of a rose learning to love a thistle despite the damage to itself. 
because a thistle still deserves to grow.