by Sodiq Oyekanmi Danielle Suijkerbuijk for F i start this in the name of the grief which now ripens on my brother’s head — a floral garden i’m walking through as i pen this poem. i pluck a chrysanthemum… & i swear to God, this is supposed to be a poem about perfumed flowers & not grief growing in vases meant for roses. tell me, what is it about grief that keeps morphing into a synonym for everything beautiful? it is September 2013, & my brother is alive. he beams to a birthd