Fresh Cut Flowers - Jan 4 2022

 

Fresh Cut Flowers

Jan 4 2022

It was a beautiful bouquet.

I can say this

even though I don't know flowers;

their names

how best to arrange them

the nuance of fragrance.

Even my attempts at cultivation have failed;

I seem to have a black thumb,

my garden overcome with weeds

blooms stillborn.

But the appreciation of beauty

has nothing to do with expertise.

The eye judges, the gut confirms,

and the feeling

is sure of itself.

And always bittersweet.

Because stems droop, flowers fade, petals drop.

Could it be this evanescence

more than anything

that makes a flower so precious?

The inevitability of loss.

The flower of youth

so quickly gone.

She scowled

at my artificial flowers

in place of fresh.

I'm just being practical, I said, defensively;

but to be honest with myself

it's more about frugality

the way I was raised.

And perhaps, I also find it hard to bear

this accelerated cycle

of life and death;

flowers, that are already dead

mouldering inexorably away

until all that remains

is a pale simulacrum.

And then the day I draw the line,

pronounce the thing unsightly

and toss it in the trash;

disposing of it

as unceremoniously

as rotten food and table scraps,

knowing that its replacement

will also not last long.

Beauty dies a quick death;

the price we pay

to have it grace our lives.

Flowers at weddings, and special occasions

flowers on our graves.

Just so long as someone comes

   —  a friend, relation, or lover

an impresario of plants   —

to take the wilted one away

and bring a fresh bouquet.

Who is also besotted with beauty

but more impractical than me.