white writers write about flowers
limited by brightly colored metaphors
easy descriptions
simplicity and safety

takes less to swallow and sell
than we budgeted for
best to stick with what we know
lilies and orchids and baby’s breath

the flower shop on the corner
in downtown Albuquerque
my roller blades at the front door
while I’m organizing stacks of cards

Georgia’s hands soft and calculated
curling ribbon with the edge of a blade
removing thorns from long stemmed roses
a balance of violence and grace

her husband passed suddenly
unpreventable – a hole in his heart
I was always impressed
by how her heart remained so whole

we had met when she let me make a bouquet
and trusted that I’d return later to pay for it
I came back every day for the scent
and the safety of that cool damp room

the one that preserved
kept crisp and fresh
petals pressed open frozen lightly dewed
I wanted to be the same

never left to wilt or shrivel forgotten
on a hot dashboard
to dry out in a waterless vase
for the balance of violence and grace
Georgia, I am still grateful