growing flowers
a bit morbid, actually
to tend and nurture nature
the divine
the beauty of it, the simplicity in a petal and a stamen
The Lovers, a honeybee
then late October, the Frost
the cold winds slowly wilting your garden's growth
abundance fading
sleep-
Early December you were born
into the freeze of it all, into the Frost -
and yet
you nurture the nature
bolstering the blooms
you collect the pollen, a honeybee yourself
you plant the seeds of hope in the spring
digging into the sweet soil, picking away the bugs
giving the beauty a chance
and then
a kind of gentle genocide
you euthanize
you are a martyr, a masochist
a saint.
you snip them with sharp shears and tender love
and give the bouquets
to mothers and aunties
sisters and friends
a funeral
a rebirth
a baptism
a vase on the table
You have seen it all.