Victorian flower language
Yellow mimosas
I plucked for the side of your recovery bed.
Rest easy
They will thrive unfed
And with healing comes petal-shed
Yellow kalanchoe
Delivered with such satisfaction on your face.
Riddled with sickness
I now must now repot, water, soil replace
Hormone pumped blossom littering my space
As I pick them up
one by one I recollect:
Yellow Acacia
Clandestine Love
Yellow Balsam
Impatient Love
Yellow Chrysanthemum
Slighted Love
Yellow Rose
The Downfall of Love
A scattering of white Volkameria
May you be happy…
A sprinkling of thorns
…away from me
The arrangement never looked quite right
for we spoke different languages
after tongues untangled like bandages
that ailing, harvest night.
(Iceland Moss
I made a mistake
Healing is a lichen flake)
All I’ve done is spit at it
but the kalanchoe lives.
Yellow blossoms lost to grit
It forgoes and it forgives