The Bluebell Suffers from a Sexuality Crisis

Noe Brennan ’25

My Dearest Friend the Oak Tree,

A question has long been troubling my mind and far too long I’ve spent in dismay for whom do I love, the night so darling and kind? or do I have a crush on the day?

I was rooted in the thought all rooted life loves the sun for it lights up each bloom with a smile. Free of sunlight, my leaves would surely be done. Starved, deprived, and loveless for a while

I wish for the sun to admire my beauty and want to be held to my nectared heart I wish for him to love how I attend to my duties and to admire me, and heat from afar and I, the bluebell, would think to myself my dear husband, how he looks so bright he protects me and holds me safe from himself; for his sweat and face make me sick in the light

Though I love that he loves me, When his arms trap my stem, I ignite with pure disgust Each time he nears, I push him away These sickly flames are surely what is meant by “true lust” but the night, oh my sweet moon Each dusk she blesses my lids with her vision for I await her arrival each eve she leaps past and keep her shadows tucked away in provision

I weep when the sun rises, or her stars fade again for her beauty entrances me so I wish for her curled up in my arms, her breaths so serene My newly nocturnal heart cooled by her glow

I wish to see her moonbeams bared And smiling, only for me I wish to see my potting shared with the sanctity of she To dance, enveloped in each other’s arms Safe in her serenity

But I’m scared, oh so frightened! If I taste the sweet night I won’t return to day how will I survive, if I was taught that I, the bluebell, needed to be lighted to stay

If I continue to think, I continue distraught So I must come to conclusion So I ask myself the one true thought. Which love must be an illusion? and

If I were to fall to pieces And my petals began to decay Who would leave me rotting there? And who could be tempted to stay?

For I must be unbroken, nay uncracked to love the night And hold her delicacy in my hands, keep myself whole And I must fall to shards to love the day And be swept under the mat as bells toll so my dearest friend the oak, think on this quagmire, I need your thoughts immediately For of this conundrum, I so tire Please write back with dutiful speed.

Friend, which is my true desire?

With greatest adoration, The Bluebell