She opens her body to the morning sun
Pale pink
Surrounded
By her older siblings
The tall green grass
She was just born.
But then
My own sister came
And plucked the flower
I said, "Why did you do that?
It has life the same
Just as yours.
Would you do that to a tree?
A bee?"
Ever so carefully,
And regretfully,
She began to plant flowers
So we have flowers
Today.

But what is eternity, if not
a whisper of frost,
landing softly
on the red lily’s lips —
the deadly flower on the other
side of the shore
spidery fangs, stretching claws
a breath away from
a beckoning memory
of our last parting

There are different kinds of fragility
One that bends,
And one that breaks

Step on a flower,
It withers

Step on a bomb
It explodes