Dried Flowers Make Me Think of Death

Brittle petals-

rigor Mortis of color

stretched out

in skeletal prayers.

They no longer 

have a scent-

stiff in death

and crackle beneath

fingertips.

Bouquet in paper white coffins

crammed in crate graveyards

at the market.

My boyfriend asks me

if I want one

and I shook my head no.

Instead I gave each blossom-

a name, a story

and prayer

for each petal

to revive and bloom

once more.