bring a bouquet to the graveyard by Ally Burg

finally
the flowers bloomed.
overnight the buds
became petals,
and we became alive
and radiant and full and brilliantly pink.
I doodled lilacs
on our grocery lists,
and you tucked
my hair behind my ear
to replace it with a daisy.
we were lighter
than dandelions in the wind
and sweeter than honeysuckles.

so
I did what was sensible.
I packed up
my camera and my sunglasses
and my postcards and all my clothes.
I fit my entire world
into a 22 x 11 suitcase
and I checked it away
on that Amtrak.

I fled
while we were still pretty.
I gazed out the window
and watched the lush trees
turn to barren sticks,
the green meadows
become miles of snow.
I could already remember us
as something
I once carefully picked to
display on my nightstand
in my grandmother’s purple vase.
something fragile
and cared for and bright.

I couldn’t stand to watch
another one
of my flowers wilt,
to witness something
that pretty
die.

I wonder
if that’s why
we bring flowers
to a funeral,
to remember
that before death
there was once
something beautiful.