top of page

Dead Flowers

A Poem by Grace Simmonds

Do not forget that the flowers she buys you are dead:

they are wilted, a brown shade of decay. You have nothing to say

as she presses a kiss to your forehead – 

 

an apology for being misled.

Misled? You must try (do not cry) to remember that

the flowers she buys you are dead:

 

they are a sweet distraction instead,                          

(never an apology)

as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

 

But the kiss is so nice, your cheeks turn red.

(No. Remember what she did.)

Do not forget that the flowers she buys you are dead.

 

Close your eyes and dream of everything you never said,

(do it now, right now)

as she presses a kiss to your forehead

 

and flutters her lashes. She looks so pretty. (No). See the bloodshed

and let yourself get angry. Open your eyes and 

see that the flowers she buys you are dead,

 

they’re telling you that nothing’s there. (Listen to them!). You misread

the situation sweetheart. It will take everything in you

to remind yourself that the flowers she buys you are dead

as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

Back to BoundBy: March'23 (Edition #1)

bottom of page