Flowers from a New Love after the Divorce by Paisley Rekdal

Cut back the stems an inch to keep in bloom.

So instructs the florist’s note

enclosed inside the flowers.

Who knew what was cut

could heal again, the green wounds close,

stitching themselves together?

It doesn’t matter. The flowers, red

and white, will bloom awhile, then wither.

You sit in an unlit room and watch

the vase throw crystal shadows through the dark.

The flowers’ colors are so lovely they’re painful.

In a week, you’ll have to throw them out.

It’s only hope that makes you take out scissors,

separate each bloom and cut

where you last measured. Did you know

Venus was said to turn into a virgin

each time she bathed? She did it

as a mark of love. She did it

so as to please her lovers. Perhaps,

overwhelmed by pain,

she eventually stopped bathing

altogether. It doesn’t matter. It’s a pleasure

to feel the green nubs stripped, watch the stems

refresh under your blade. They’re here

because they’re beautiful. They glow

inside your crystal vase. And yet

the flowers by themselves are nothing:

only a refraction of color that,

in a week or two, will be thrown out.

Day by day, the water lowers. The red-

and-white heads droop, blacken at the stems.

It doesn’t matter. Even cut stems heal.

But what is the point of pain if it heals?

Some things should last forever, instructs

the florist’s note. Pleasure,

says one god. Shame, says another.

Venus heads, they call these flowers.

In a week or two, you’ll lose the note,

have to call the florist up.

With sympathy, you’ll think he says.

Perhaps: With love. It doesn’t matter.

You’ve stopped bathing. Alone,

you sit before the crystal

vase refracting you in pieces

through the dark. You watch

the pale skin bloom inside it, wither.

You petal, inch by inch.

You turn red and white together.

Paisley Rekdal, “Flowers from a New Love after the Divorce” from Animal Eye. Copyright © 2012 by Paisley Rekdal.