(such a small, insignificant thing)
weeks ago I’d have quickly ran the
water at the kitchen sink
forgotten to trim the stems
crowded too many into the glass vase
poured in the drops of vodka that
promise to keep them fresh
placed them off center on the kitchen table
and went about my day.
now I’d document the hue of every petal.
I want tulips –
(I’ve forgotten what it’s like to wake with the sun)
the hastiness of red
(we haven’t ran far enough for our cheeks to turn)
the authenticity of purples, blues, pinks –
I’d lay their sweet heads
on the countertop
carefully trim their green feet
reach for the second vase
(distance is key now)
carefully position each one
(watch their delicate necks)
and then I’d watch them bloom.
I’d catch each one as it
stretched out it’s bright arms
and dropped each precious petal
is the smallest,
insignificant of things.