Fiction & Poetry

Flower Girl

by TIA LEWIS

Two dandelions, crossed like your eyes, tongue out

Three water lilies, between us in the pond, white as teeth

One blue tulip, painted on your canvas, painted on your lids

Five daffodils, full of sunshine, bright as you

Four lavender stalks, in the back of your jewelry box, pale

Seven carnations, quite confessions, pink as your cheeks

Twenty forget-me-nots, an apology, you throw them out

One red rose, blooming between us, bloody fingers

Twelve daisies, your mom’s favorite, you shake and scream

Two arched orchids, distant like us, wilting with our long hair

Seventeen foxgloves, you touch a whisper, my face a mirror

Thirty-one snapdragons, thrown in a vase, you slam the door

Six calla lilies, a laugh, a lie, you push my hands away

Three irises, an icy morning to follow a fiery night

One sunflower, bent outside our door, your door

Twenty-four lilacs, for all your years, all our months apart

 

Ten hydrangeas, alone, still, one for each year gone.

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