I cannot speak
the name of the flowers —
large purple silk bowls
filled to brim with fragrance.
My daughter picks them
from their home on the tree
beside our house —
brings them in to be held
in crystal vases filled with water.
By the second day they
are dropping petals heavily
from stem to table. A slow
emptying of the bowl until
all that remains are
spiky pod-seeds on stems
rising from the petal beds below.
Originally published in San Fernando Poetry Journal, 1998.
Marissa Colleen Mullins 
You know I like flowers very much, but it’s sad when you get the real flowers in a vase at home, knowing eventually they’ll die … Aren’t they much better in the garden? Lovely poem Marissa.
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that paints such a pretty picture 🙂
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