flowers

Andrew speaks the eulogy I wrote.
All I can think is how much
you hated baby’s breath.

I’d held a tube of redorange lipstick
in my hand the day before.
I left it on your vanity.

I stare at your pale, set face
and it’s too late;
I won’t share my lipstick.

One last thing
I don’t give you
and the flowers are wrong.

written august 2017

 

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3 thoughts on “flowers

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