Bring Another Pot
Prose poem
Flowers speak to me in scents. Here is the cheery daisy, there is the gutsy lily.
Today they frown and chide. They say: ‘Water us another day for our limbs have grown ill, too much love could kill.’
I say, ‘I am indeed in your debt, for all these months, not for a second have you abandoned me! Even on the verge of pushing up daisies, you, Daisy, chose to wait one more day for this chlorine rain. And you, Lily, even on the dullest days, you lulled my senses to life.’
Whether by the hand of the wind or by their free mortal will, they slip and sink, and in unison, they speak, ‘Whether it be love or guilt that has moved your hands and flooded us on our most auspicious days, our feet now stink and in mud, they sink.
Off you go now, bring another pot.’
