Don’t Gift me with Death
written by: Rachael Thorp
the flowers that are presented to me
sitting in their
plastic shroud.
embalmed in damp tissue.
they remain
inert
yet moving to their end
illustrated in their dehydrating
shrinking
withdrawal
of petals and beauty.
but should we determine
beauty
against withering and ageing?
the lacking of lacklustre
lure of youth
ripeness
those picked and chosen for
colour and vibrance.
no longer upstanding citizens
of the kitchen counter
top.
they drop
their coverings.
they droop
bedraggled
wizened
slurping water that no longer hydrates
nor provides youth
to paper
-like skin,
black tainted (tainting) leaves (them)
slimed
odorous
no continuing promise of
aroma, scent
or blooms that arouse and open.
they wilt
lean
sulky teens against the spar shop wall
heads downward.
dropping petals as litter
falls from
convenience store confectionery
to be picked up
between finger and thumb, deposited in a bin that overflows with detritus
or elsewhere.
the remaining mulched flowers
discoloured
shrivelled and laden with liquid
are tipped into compost
create a new soil
improved
for the new blooms
to flourish.
scrub the vase clean
the green residue
that clings to bequeath a coded script
for the next captives,
of death
of change
of gift.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Friends arrive with flowers for me, they have such kind thoughts and are well-meaning. But the flowers are dying already. As they live for us, they wither.
- Don’t Gift me with Death - April 4, 2026
- Morning Salutations - November 10, 2025
- The River - August 4, 2025
