The Florist Throws Away Her Flowers
The bouquets
in their refrigerated cases
breathe against the glass, turning to slime.
Ok, maybe not slimy yet,
but ready to let their beauty go to gook
ever since, well,
ever since they got here.
In a cut flower’s life
every hour is a year,
a lifetime in seven days.
Bunch of baby’s breath can’t be
reattached to the plant,
inhaled back into plant,
returning to its days as a seed
in the sweet soil.
Flowers are the gift
that keeps on
perishing,
but first makes room for a little visit.
I have to smile at "Flowers are the gift / that keeps on / perishing." A little trick I was told could keep them a little longer: a bit of vodka or gin in the water.
ReplyDeleteDelightful...I have always had a love/hate relationship with florists for that reason...I do have a straight love relationship with nurseries for that reason. Wishing you a happy thursday Hannah : )
ReplyDeleteI love flowers, but it's always so sad and such a waste as they turn to slime in the pretty glass vase. I always let them go too long... not wanting to trash them so soon. I enjoy the idea and line in your poem about flowers making a little visit.
ReplyDeleteThat penultimate stanza makes a fantastic aphorism. Where can you sell it? (You could include the last line if you want a little uplift).
ReplyDelete