the Trigger-happy housewife

Bringing the constantly fantastic and painfully insane together daily!

Your Flowers

on September 29, 2014

photo

Your flowers have been hanging in my kitchen,

like the final days of your life.

Drying, brittle and broken.

Still beautiful.

Dust collected around them.

The more dust the less I could remember the day you left.

Then it came to be that the only thing I could remember

about your life,

about our life,

was that day.

And the only reason I had that memory

was that your flowers hung in my kitchen.

I took them down

days before I set them on fire.

I held them softly,

and thought of holding you.

You laid in that bed and I was angry

that they would not let you go

that they could not see past your breath

you were dead for days before you died.

I was so angry they could not see that.

I held your flowers and I realized

I was still holding onto you.

Only that wasn’t the you I wanted.

I wanted childhood memories

of swing sets and doodle bugs.

I wanted the memories of the flowers in your garden,

alive and flush with color.

Before he died.

Before you died.

Before everyone was gone.

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One response to “Your Flowers

  1. Liz says:

    Heartfelt

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