flowers

Chrysanthemum, rose,
Delilah, gardens, whispers:
Dahlia. Your name may be
beautiful, but you're still
a dahlia.

Collapsible lawn chairs
Lemonade, wrinkled hands fixing
you upright with gentle strings. The
hail pelted holes in stems and buds
and tears renewed you.

"She wanted
a greenhouse," her granddaughter
whispered gently, stroking leaves.
"But I got sick. She paid for
doctors instead."

The hush, night time and
the push for growing, the push
to say that chemicals and white
tents give a mechanical advantage
but all you need is a patient love.

We don't dream of
fair ribbons, or farmer's market
but rather complacency, and by
the time the bud begins to open,
all we hope is that they're there to see it.