trust nothing the forget-me-nots
tell you about mourning.
it was humid & i floated through town
like an orphaned button. i was trying
to overlook my loneliness
by collecting the smoothest stones
i could find. an object
is the only solution to 
the real undoing. i found
whitish stones & grave-stones 
& a church spire piercing cloud.
i plucked a white fringed flower
from a crack in the sidewalk
& cradled the plant home, hoping
to re-plant there. 
weak, the plant fainted 
& would not wake up. this morning
i could not wake up so i slept
another whole day & 
no one noticed. the forget-me-nots 
only bloom between a tangle
of ivys & brush. little blue faces
between knives of green.
i have never plucked one
despite how much i want to.
they are very kind flowers 
& they wave to me each day 
& say, "hello dear robin!"
i waive back & say hello 
but i never know what else to say.
i want to say, "flowers, forgive me
but i am so forsaken i write
the day of the week on a notecard
to remind myself." no, the flowers
don't want to hear something like that
so i write the words on a dinner plate,
cover it with salad & swallow. 
a fork can be used 
as a dowsing rod when i am looking
to feel the water under my feet.
i sat on the porch at night
& i saw not a single firefly.
do they simple not come here?
i have been waiting for 
something beautiful. the flowers
waive again & close their feathered eyes
for the night. my face is blue
with forgetting.


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