It took me a while to unearth
the reason why your suggestion
disturbed me
The plant you gave me for some special occasion
was it my birthday or maybe our anniversary
or perhaps a regular Monday when you loved me more for some reason that must have caught your eye by the bread aisle and which once bore waxen flowers of fuchsia
slim-stemmed and brazen-tongued
It had made our sterile apartment
with synthetic carpet and white walls
feel sleek and stylish
next to the mirror and the bowl of plums
Every morning I ate my oatmeal admiring its elegance in the sunlight
and I suppose it brought me joy
So your comment made me wonder: at your fickleness
at the shallowness of love
your interest in only what is beautiful and ripe
adding another anxiety to my growing list
Will you dispose of me abandon me, roots and all
in the back woods or empty me unceremoniously in the parking lot dumpster
Will you stop watering me
when I no longer bloom?
