flower, you did not
deserve to die like this,
wilted in the bottom of my trashcan
after a day gracing the vase in my kitchen.
no, you should have lived, lived outside
and grown wild under the endless sky
and at last, relinquished your petals, one by one,
to the cold freedom of the autumn wind,
instead of losing them to my kitchen floor
swept away by a dustpan and a broom.
for a short while you were a small sun,
what courage it must have taken to smile,
away from the lifeblood of the blue rain, in that prison of a
crystal cylinder filled with tepid tap water!
the tragedy of your wilted neck
spiritlessly limp, unwilling to live
but oh little thing, forgive me
for wanting a flower
and not being an earth