Daly

Bloom Even Where No One Can See

what do you think about when you think about Iowa?

I think of the prairies

and about how humanity has chosen to treat them

and how there is less than 1% remaining

I remember that Iowa is the most ecologically altered state in the country

and I begin to question who could have seen the natural prairies, with their own eyes

and still chosen to uproot them


I think about my great-grandparents

who made their living from the land

born and buried mere miles apart

I think about their lives here

and if I will get the same opportunity one day


a childhood tale comes to mind

told by the town’s elders native to the land

of steel plows ripping through centuries-old prairie roots like cloth

shredding the intricate patchwork quilting our history

how can you cry at our beauty,

while continuing to rip it apart?


today many of the few untouched natural prairies in Iowa reside in abandoned cemeteries,

because even through death we rise.


children play tag with the ghosts of their ancestors and learn to make peace with mortality

the flowers grow with them even when their loved ones cannot

death is no longer ominous because now we have a garden to tend to,

and it will flourish


did you know Iowa's prairies are as bio diverse as South American rainforests?

summers spent splashing up and down the creek searching for meaning in the world around us

stones became the latest toys

and we crowned each other with flowers



still, most people think of corn when they think of Iowa

and that’s fine, but really we are so much more than that.


the prairies deserved better.

we deserve better.

we deserve to exist naturally.


to be from Iowa is to be uprooted


to be honest every time I think about it I cry

how beautiful this land must have been

I’m thankful to have gotten to experience even a sliver of it


it’s so much more than cornfields and cows,

it’s home to a diverse ecosystem

and an incredible community


who are both desperately in need.

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The Flowers Said It’s Okay To Leave

I grew up on the side of the road

sandwiched between endless ears of corn in the summers

and cows crying out to the moon that crept out earlier each evening as winter drew near


life comes from the ground I walk on

and I try to let myself believe I can grow here too


connections run deeper than blood and root themselves everywhere

decades of familial ties stitched together in an inseparable knot

my family has lived on this land for over one hundred years

the driveway I biked down knew me before I existed

the small flowers in the far field welcomed me home from the hospital one late july afternoon

and those same once budding flowers held onto their vibrance just long enough

to wish me well when I decided to leave them for good


it has been months since the last time I made it home to see the flowers

days pass by like a sand timer,

slowly and then all at once


seasons change in shades of gray here

I miss when the wind had flavor

I know I need to visit the flowers soon,

I hope I can find the answers I’ve been looking for within them


when winter came my flowers left

a place once spattered with shades of purple and yellow now reflected only white

a blank slate

the first step in a new beginning is the death of what once was

I learned that from the flowers


when home got too cold for me I left

I think that’s what the flowers would have wanted

the garden I have sewn will continue planting seeds long after I have gone

I hope one day a little girl will see my flowers and call them hers

for they bloomed under the promise of her love


while I am away I write letters to the trees

thanking them for our time together

memorizing every memory formed beneath their shady embrace

I will ask them about the flowers

ask if they have returned yet

praying silently that they will

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Wishing

There is no time to write

And yet I do

Let this simple act of defiance stand against time and it's permanentness

I was here,

Not forever but long enough to do something that mattered


I hope I die like a dandelion

With a big breath and a wish for everything to get better somehow

Cecilia Daly

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About the Author

Cecilia Daly has always considered herself a writer. Her earliest projects include original songs written & performed for her first-grade Show & tell. Since her debut, Cecilia has moved almost 400 miles to her new home of Kansas City where she attends university. Since she departed from her hometown, she has drawn ample inspiration for her writing from the rural farm town culture in which she was raised, primarily featured in her signature deformalized poetry format.