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Literature Text
Before my mother died,
she gave me a blue potted orchid, with
soft pink strips running down the center of the petals.
When I saw it, my face turned red,
so I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I sat on the lid of the toilet, dreaming of
mermaids and bird-watching and lullabies.
Nine years later, I leave the bathroom,
snatch the orchid from the chandelier,
grab my shovel from the kitchen,
and run upstairs into the backyard,
where I bury the wilting plant
six and a half feet into the ground.
she gave me a blue potted orchid, with
soft pink strips running down the center of the petals.
When I saw it, my face turned red,
so I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I sat on the lid of the toilet, dreaming of
mermaids and bird-watching and lullabies.
Nine years later, I leave the bathroom,
snatch the orchid from the chandelier,
grab my shovel from the kitchen,
and run upstairs into the backyard,
where I bury the wilting plant
six and a half feet into the ground.
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A little poem I wrote about putting the past behind you (and where my username comes from!).
© 2013 - 2024 burytheorchids
Comments11
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This is a lovely poem my mother has been dead for not even a year yet and I am having complications with my mind accepting that she's dead, it won't accept that fact.