there’s a void the size of about a dozen bouquets at the display, dwindling down by the minute. tauntingly they rest in the lobby, luring and leering at clientele.

buzzing collared-shirt husbands parade through pristine flowers, little tots in tow, perusing petals and prices.

rosy heads litter linoleum floors. a steady procession of checkout lines beep & bleep to the rhythm of a hummingbird pulse.

i imagine there’s a gaping hole where your heart is, a chasm so deep it threatens to pull you in.

that you’re standing in the floral aisle and must decide between a vague mother’s day bouquet or a new plant to place on your bright windowsill.

there’s a babe with shoes so small you can’t even fathom that they make them that tiny, that humans could even possess that small of bodies. his father cradles him in one arm, the other holds his daughter’s little hand.

you turn to the orchids.

perhaps growing something is better than growing nothing at all. after five years it’s what your body won’t give you, dreams that stay buried beneath watermarks on your pillowcase.

a bird of paradise perches in the corner near a seasoned pothos’ spiderweb legs. heirloom hydrangeas take home outdoors, peonies border sidelines. bushes of roses rise, the last of the daffodils laughing, near now is their soon passing.

carefully you tend these growing things, breathe life into them where otherwise you cannot.

or maybe you just like to see flowers bloom and blossom and fade, look at evergreen pine needles’ cascade, watch grass grow by each day.