flowers need more than water to grow

maybe that’s why I run away at the sight of them blooming

I can’t even remember to water them once a day

how can I sustain them for years?

 

she says it’s okay that she gets thirsty sometimes

she’ll always find a way to get water

always grow towards the light

soak in the dirt

spread roots wherever she walks

 

I try to fill her up anyway

but I’m just too small, too empty to reach the top

 

she has leaves blended into pine straw legs

wet on the surface from dew

watering can strands of hair

spilling over the edge of flower pot shoulders

 

the soil gets heavy sometimes

atlas herself can’t bear the weight enough to shrug

 

sometimes she’s forced down on all fours

handprints stuck in muddy ground

cloth snagged on tree bark

protruding from branching arms

 

my name is carved in her wooden oaks

a heart encapsulates initials

but they are not ours

 

so I tell her the tale of how resilient she is

how her stem always manages to sprout

even after it’s stepped on

even after it’s ripped off

torn up & spit out

 

the petals she calls home float off one by one

begging me to love her 

not

 

I tell her

I’m allergic to her pollen

that way I don’t have to tell her that I was the one who ripped out her frail beginnings

the one who tried to grow her in my hands

fingers cupped around the subtle curve of her sepal

 

I push her away gently, fingertips skimming polka-dot goosebumps

raised like braille on the soft petals of a daisy

 

I am not strong enough to say goodbye

not strong enough to see the bugs feasting on her leaves until she’s nothing but crumbs

too small to leave a trail back towards home

 

I see hues of pink and orange fall to the ground

where a crushed green stem meets the earth

they claim they have never met before

that they’re strangers

but they know each other far too well

 

she’s not very resilient anymore

but I am not strong enough to tell her

– I blame myself for your flowers dying