I finally washed my bed sheets.
But on Mondays,
I still water that ******* orchid.
That beautiful blue *******
blooms a new hue every week.
And every week, I am forced to remember
(how could I forget)
how I watered and waited
for a new you to bloom—
not one more beautiful,
not one more suave,
or more handsome, or clever—
but the one you assured me was ripening, quiet
like the beautiful ******* before me.
The one that would love me,
despite being lifeless
for giving you all that supports me.
I thought about throwing it out
but every week,
the orchid keeps its promise.
•
•
•
"Crime and punishment grow out of one stem. Punishment is a fruit that, unsuspected, ripens with the flower of the pleasure that concealed it."
—Ralph Waldo Emerson