That’s all you’d left me with.

A bitter heart framed by bitter eyes,

Pumped by every bitter breath

I took.

I took your roses, cut them,

Scraped their roots from

The ground,

Grew my own where they stood.

Bright red roses, nothing

Like the ones you

Laid before; you made thrive,

Endure, for countless days

In our backyard garden

After finding them

Grace the window of

A basement store.

You paved the way for

A home, saved the sweetest

Drops of nectar

For our family:

Spring incarnate.

I couldn’t even leave your roses

In the compost bin, molting

All colors, thick with death.

I had seen you wither already.

I walked to the hill,

Held them open in my hands,

And let the wind take them

From me.