You were beautiful,
and I spent hours trying to decide
how to dispose of your picture.
I could have burned it.
I could have thrown it in the trash,
or left it in a gutter full of old rain.
I could have chopped it into confetti
and thrown it off the tallest building
in town, but none of those seemed
a fitting way to end you.
I didn’t hate you enough for fire.
You didn’t belong in the landfill
or a grimy wet sluice, and
if I’d tossed you into the sky,
I’d just have to see the pieces of you
when I came back down.
So I bought a packet of flower seeds.
Himalayan blue poppies,
and I crumpled your picture
and tucked the seeds inside
and I buried you.
In an empty lot beside a thrift store,
I buried you,
thinking you weren’t so beautiful after all,
but with a bit of rain and sunshine
you might be.
