Flower, for Greggory Smart


He liked to vacuum
he liked
“The clean lines the vacuum makes,”

He sold his drum kit
to buy an engagement ring
and cut his hair short:

He and his wife Pamela
were young and ambitious:
fans of Metal, they named their

dog “Halen.”
I think of him whenever I vacuum,
a “relational memory,”

Then close my eyes the way he
closed his eyes when the boys
pulled out the gun

Take anything except my wedding band, he said to the 15-year-old boy his wife was fucking

My wife would kill me, he said
just as the bullet entered his skull
and, having leisurely passed through

His cerebral cortex, paused, infinitesimally, in the warm rain of
dopamine and adrenaline

And shivered in its gold jacket—

He would come home and walk the dog and pick flecks from the white
sectional sofa

Waiting for Pamela to come home,
and looking at the tilled rugs
as if they were filled with seeds,

Then tender, determined shoots: children, mainly, flower-handed
and petal-faced

When the door swung open he also
turned, like a flower, to the moonlight
That was let in, and smiled.

  • Well I could just read everything you write you crazy, brilliant woman. Life is about Losing Everything is in my hands now and it is staggeringly good, and you are still beautiful.

    • lynncrosbie

      Thank you so much! Xo

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