she was a flower
not because she was beautiful
although she certainly was
not because she was delicate
although she certainly was
but because she lived quickly
because she died quickly
and once she was gone she was forgotten quickly
and her petals were tossed in the trash
and her stem buried in the ground
and her nectar dried up
and all that was left was her glass house
until that too cracked and crumbled to dust
mother always said that weeds were best
you cared about weeds
you hated them
you remembered them
and mother always said it was better to be hated and remembered
than loved and quickly forgotten
shame then
that I loved a flower
because I can’t even remember her name