There is a purple vase of golden flowers on the kitchen table Its waxy surface gleaning in the morning sun Through the white and rustling blinds Shuffling in the early breeze There is a field of uncut grass that stretches To the tree line Purple and golden and green And my mother is sleeping in the other room While the coffee brews I stopped loving when I was a child And my lovers rejoice in my boredom Like those flowers I rose to water While my mother slept