A Late Bloom

It was that flower,

the one from the park

with the purple petals and

the yellow center, like a sun.

I could see it, clear as day,

but the name just wouldn't stay.

Days I chased it, a small mouse

in my brain's dark house.

It felt important, somehow,

that I should know it now.

Then, washing dishes,

water running, a soft sound,

and suddenly, the word bloomed,

full and round.

Campanula.

Just like that. A quiet triumph,

for something so small.