The flower gets plucked one day
Not by the roots
but cut at the stem
Placed in a glass jar where it is pretty
But dead
Watered
but no way to drink
The flower appears to be flourishing
But I know better
This flower is dead
The flower died in the hospital room
I dressed it up myself
Clichéd the flower with advice
about living your best life
Unaware
that I was red dye for the pretending
We laughed about our stories
Discussed how we’d start living after this
Made promises of mulch and sunshine
Growth and green pastures
I went back to my garden
The flower went into a vase.
I watched it pretend to be alive
Its glass cloudy
Its stem covered in mold
Leaves withering and falling apart
Fragile to the touch
It laughing and medicating it’s way
Through obligations and responsibilities
A dying thing wishing it would die already
And me, wondering how it hadn’t
I stayed far away
Afraid
Didn’t wanna be near the flower when the last petal fell
When it could no longer pretend to be pretty
When it becomes evident that the flower is no longer
And it’s vase is empty
That’s a pain I can’t bare
I’ve been trying to find a way to give more
To the flower
Show it roots
That are still holding on
Remind it of petals that have seen the sun
And how even in glass, the flower can be a centerpiece
Or pressed, a treasure
I’ll have to put on my boots for this
Stop tip toeing and stomp the grounds to wake him
He hasn’t been plucked yet
This is just bouquet thinking
He’s still got time