the night before we threw
the dying lilies into the pasture
we stood together under a nearly full moon
and cried over our unkept garden bed
if they must die
what shall we do?
our dirty palms
open-faced and empty
we watched the pinks turn to cream brown
and with no regard for perennials
you said you rarely feel good
so we tugged at the stems
gleaming with pride
i whispered and you watered
the weeds on display
in vases around the apartment
our pruning careless and promises fleeting
we took off our gloves
all well-knowing
the overgrowth out of hand
tending the earth of our bodies
became a chore
we could not love each other
anymore
