
The Flower Eaters
Published March 24, 2023 by rlmcdermott
You smell
it first–
musky
dust on
a favorite
chair
flowers wilting
in a blue vase
shadows
You count
the lines
on your face
craqueleur
every bone
has a name
carved into it
nothing is
left unmarked
Then you
remember
bird song
a cone flower
growing on a
country road
Love
ducked
around
the corner
when it saw
her coming
until she
found it
here–
hiding
in a field
full of
wildflowers.
She knows
their names
better than
she knows
her own–
coneflower,
lady-slipper,
brown-eyed susan.
They grab
at straws
to keep
alive. Their
days are
bright and
flat and
they roll
them on
their edges.
Deep in
the tall
grasses,
she can
hear them
sing–
a simple
song that
settles on
the wind.