The flowers have wilted now. Burnt orange half moon pistils burst forth from a sea of darkening, lily white. Amid the detritus living on the kitchen counter: discarded dirty socks, molding dish sponge, half-empty casserole pan, unsigned school assignments, sits a yellow vase. I find myself furious at the browning, crinkled remnants of life so recently vibrant. We’ll take the dried, disintegrating petals to the compost bin where the worms will grow drunk on death. We’ll feed your memory to next year’s roses. — CAMILLE LEBEL
Camille Lebel, educator and mother to seven, lives on a small hobby farm outside of Memphis, Tennessee. She’s published in Rogue Agent Journal, Literary Mama, Sledgehammer Lit, Sparks of Calliope, Black Fox Literary Magazine and more. She enjoys writing, traveling, and horse-whispering. She largely writes in the school car-line as a way to process special needs parenting, child loss, religious trauma, and more.