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
Back to the Review >
