I want to scream, and scream . And scream some more.
I want to grab those flowers, rip them petal by petal
crush them under my heel
order them to leave and never return
But I cannot. I dare not.
For all my crushing and ripping
has released the sticky-sweet aroma that death brings
the memory of wizened old aunts and grandparents
linger in the ancient air…..exposed in all its fragility.
Woe, o Woe, how can it be so young to choose