Wreath

The flowers must have died by now
but you have not called.

I counted so slowly
but you never came.

Now they will be gone
and you can forget in peace.

21 July 1989

It wasn’t a wreath, it was bouquet. At least I think it was a bouquet but the more I think about it the more I can’t figure out what reason I could’ve concocted for sending B. flowers. If I had I also can’t imagine her not picking up her phone immediately to either thank me or to ask why. Maybe it was something else and I’m using flowers as a metaphor. Or maybe this one has nothing to do with B. even though it reminds me of her. Now it’s its own thing.

2 comments:

Kass said...: It's sad
imagining someone
being peaceful
in their forgetfulness
of you...; 29 June 2016 at 17:54
Jim Murdoch said...: Yes, Kass, but I’m sure there are more than a few who were glad to have me out of their lives. How much peace that gave them I’ve no idea. We don’t like being around reminders of the things we’ve done or who we truly are. I think of B. often. I only made contact with her once after she got married—and in such a rush, stupid girl—and I saw her once too maybe a year later but we didn’t talk. I may not have given her flowers but I did give her gifts. I wonder if she still has that copy of Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. I expect my poems all got binned.; 30 June 2016 at 02:34

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