This poem invites impromptu performance: A woman in her mid-twenties sits in a spot light; her face is puffy and her cheeks are tear stained. From her appearance, you are able to determine she’s been living on her own for a couple of years. In her hand, a single, long-stemmed white daisy: its head wilted towards the ground. She holds the flower at eye level, but looks dramatically beyond, in contemplation.
To all the roses
I have watched
Bloom . . . and . . . Die.
In dollar store vases
Not-so pleasing
to the eye
To all the roses
I have
Hung . . . and . . . Dried
Up side
Down
Meeting their demise
To all the greenery
left in my ‘capable’ hands
For forgetting
To feed
Your Soil . . . and . . . Your Sand
To all those defenseless flowers
which for days,
I admit it
I’d leave, without care
I ignored your twisted tendrils
I didn’t notice you there
To all the daisies I picked in the field
Only to discard on pavement, fresh sealed
To all the blossoms
I will now leave alone
And
Apologies
To houseplants I’ve known
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