I Bet Your Parents Made Love in a Bed
of bright marigolds and cosmos.
That would explain your innate
stubbornness, like when you sprouted
in May, too eager
to grant your mother
the sweet poison of a lily
of the valley,
which is motherhood.
Although it’s not as beautiful as
the red tulip she raised, I hope
she likes the hydrangeas I gave.
I’ve been wanting to gift more.
While their brilliant red still
doesn’t compare to the adorable
pink blooming on you,
Look, the carnations we planted
have beautifully bloomed. I’m
determined to grow peonies with
you, too. I’ve already decided that
when I lie in my deathbed, nobody shall
give me white lilies. Instead, they’ll
give me poppies, for the wound you left
when you left me:
Its medicine will grant me peace in death,
just like the peace your lavender gave me.
- Sappy