I hung the sunflower from a piece of twine in my wardrobe, some months ago now.
Something once beautiful, a gift from you to me, a symbol of us, together
and the happiness we found in eachother as we grew and bloomed together.
So I hung it in the wardrobe to preserve it. To keep it. To admire it. To cherish it for as long as we could.
And yet despite my attempts, this sunflower’s petals fell to the wardrobe floor, it’s head shrivelling, wilting.
What could I do? but leave it there for days and weeks, suspended amongst the clothes.
But the longer I left it, unable to face what I knew I had to do, the worse this sunflower became.
We cannot restore life into something dead and decayed.
I sharpened my shears and cut both the thin twine of the sunflower, and the thin twine holding us together.
The dead sunflower hanging in my wardrobe becomes the dead sunflower lying amongst its own petals on the wardrobe floor.
I am left to pick up the pieces of what once was. It was useless to try to preserve when all flowers live, then die.
part two of a three piece collection I’m working on called ‘Sunflowers’. part one is my previous published poem ‘i. Sunflower’, but this is the next ‘stage in the journey’, written a couple of weeks ago i’m working on the third and final part (and stage in the journey haha) at the moment which hopefully should be better than this..?