I Say

Glory green this grass
and I am angry 
or in love with you.
As mad as the lesser flowers
are wild, simple
extraordinary things. 

I crush a buttercup,
say "It proves I am strong..."
and pretend I don't care
whether it will glow a golden sun
on the chisel of your chin.
I throw it on the ground and
defy your cholesterol to matter any less
just so long as you are
taking your vitamins at least.
"Confound you, I do not care." I say.

Just like this feeble daisy,
I plucked you out of nowhere and
I swear I'll put you back there. 
"It is only a weed," I say
"white and plain,
and it does not matter."
But it droops its head and
reminds me of you sulking so I
stick it in my hair
"Just to get it out of my face." I say
but as well as I know anything
I know why it's there.

There, scentless,
feather heavy it woos me,
whispers the dangling maybe
I ask every day. 
Finally I say
"It doesn't matter anyway,
these childhood things
need innocence and I do not
believe anymore.
But then. . .
. . .if it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter
and I'll only pull the petals
out of spite," I say
"to make it vulnerable and
naked like me." I say. 

So I pick and I pluck,
I say "No one's keeping track."
but I get to that last and long
and milky leg,
that smooth exclamation point
which trembles in my hand
and I exhale
sunshine
and butter
and wishes,
bluebell
and chicory 
and cherish the lesser things,
the tender ones,
the forget-me-nots filled
with all our tiny forevers
which I say "Once we meant to keep..."
which only ever bloom
in Spring,
in clusters,
in blue and humble promises. 


Later the petal glows warm
and white, as innocent as anything
floating in my tea
and I say
"On this day only,
if I drink it I'll believe."