He still brings bouquets, still
bright and beguiling,
but now they only beg.
(It’s bereavement, I believe, though
how I choose to be alone is
none of his business.)
In the beginning, it was
bundles of baby’s breath and
bleeding hearts. We were too in love
to lay blame back then.
He came bearing
bellflower (unwavering love). Later,
begonia (beware a fanciful nature).
We were in Bristol overlooking the beach
when my appendix burst. Some things
can’t be dressed in petals and aroma:
sore bodies, bruised knees, the way others
will break you. Red balsam grew.
This boy has taught me not to bargain
with my blood and my bones, has
bestowed the smells of columbine,
fennel, morning glory and
White tulips and creeping willows
whisper all the ways we went wrong
and watched horrible things