For all there is a purpose. There must be, no matter how large or small.

It is morning. I have my purpose. I am sitting on a basketball with my back up against a concrete pole. I’m looking, glancing, at the little sign I wrote; “DO NOT STEP ON THE FLOWERS”. It seems over-night these small pretty flowers of yellow, red, white and purple have bloomed. The problem is that they are right next to a pathway. At times, when prisoners are walking in two’s or more they tend to walk off the pathway-right where these little beautiful flowers are. I don’t want them to be crushed; they would die.

When i first saw them, I stopped and wondered, walked on… but kept wondering. By the time I walked almost around the whole yard, I started giving some of the pretty little flowers names – Names of women. I pictured pretty women. I saw the basketball with a clipboard and pencil next to it so I took them and made the sign.

Now I sit here…

“watch the flowers ” I shout to a some men as they come upon my little beautys. They find humor in my purpose, that’s ok. I will sit here till the yard is closed… 2 more hours. I’ll be with my girls for 2 more hours. It is the least I can do for my purpose today.

The sun is on my face, arms and upper chest, it is war. The colors are rich. I am feeling kind, human, and not of beast.

I could just go over and pick the flowers, put them in a book and have to myself to enjoy for as long as I want.. but no, see, longevity is only for those who can swallow the un-bareable. No, I will keep the love for these girls as long as I can. Then I will go. They’ll be alone. Alone like the women I left so long ago. Some have dies, others exsist, few have flourished. And I know, I’ll be damned and leave the sign. But, I will not come tomorrow, no, tomorrow will be yesterday; no, I will have a new one on a new day.

It is all I have to do, these puposes-acted out neo-logisms. Good thing I always have my pen so that I can write and pass them to you !!

“… HEY,WATCH OUT FOR THEM FLOWERS” I point
“FLOWERS??”one of three asked
“THOSE” I point again.

They nod and walk on.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 26th, 2008 at 1:11 pm and is filed under George Martorano, daughters, flowers, path, prison, purpose, shout. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.