SWEEPING UP RED PETALS
by Kasandra Larsen
Alstroemeria, those tiny Peruvian lilies, don’t last
long. Every morning I wake crying, shuffle swollen
out toward sun to sweep up tender petals, wrinkled
like fingers left too long in a soothing bath
grown cold. The grocer knows me, my secret
smile, my weekly bundles of color wrapped in
crackling cellophane. Today is red.
Last week, life was bright pink for days.
I won’t stop, even though I know they’ll die,
willing to share my rooms with temporary
beauty. That’s why, when I don’t call,
you shouldn’t think I’ve forgotten our late
conversations. Not at all. I touch my lips to their
tenacious pollen and the shocking color lasts all day.
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