Flowers

 I was trying to explain to one of my male friends

Why I felt women valued flowers in a way men do not

A flower is extracted from the root by stem and the cells begin to die

The moment it is plucked like a human diving down into the oceans depths

To witness a coral reef in the glory from polyp to angel fish

One touch and years of microorganism labor is demolished

The commitment on the flower’s part is absolute

Like a martyr exemplifying what life truly is in all fragile beauty

The plant’s cells know that the loveliness it creates attracts those

Who will spread its genes whether by pollen to the legs of a bee

Or the placement of stem slid above a woman’s ear dancing

To the left of her face, glimmering in her hair

And making a man say how lovely are thee in comparison

I exalt you for your femininity

For this flower’s ticking expiration is in opposition to masculinity

Men are productivity, long-term value-based creatures of ration

That an object or task's purpose instills its value to add to survival

Wherein assembling flowers into portable bouquets

For the simple experience of marveling at the visual, olfactory, and tactile

Delicate intricacy of nature’s hues bleeds for the indulgence of empathy

Flowers say to a woman I see you in the beauty of what cannot be put to task

But I see you in the beauty of what is vulnerability, of what is softness

Of what is not tearing to the roots of the plant even though I am in a position to do so,

But what you give me I will treasure, breathe, stroke with kind fingers

To allow you the moments to replenish the thoughts I see you in contemplation

For those you love, not to be taken for granted, but noticed in an indirect ray of sunlight

Which mirrors how you think of men striving to add value through such tangibility

I am exalted in your vulnerability; so take these freesia, tulips, irises, roses dear

And blossom for us

I understand the ephemeral that by offering these flowers to you

They will wilt; they are not like two by fours or cross beams to steady a house

Or mammalian muscle to nourish a stomach; they are a scent in space

They are the way an index finger passes over skin of another’s palm

They are tone in a voice saying I did the laundry and dinner is on the table,

Not because it is mother’s day, but because it is Thursday and this is normal and

We each notice what we do for the other

Flowers are counterbalance to stones

So grow love grow; femininity is beautiful

It is what I in this masculine role am not bowing to you,

But breathing you in a manner which you can taste

Just tell me what genus of plant you wish to see

And in a moment you do not expect I will try to affirm the tenderness

Every father knows beats in his daughter’s heart

Not because she is his, but because his heart cries happy to see her bloom

Flowers held by a grandson in a vase down the halls of a hospital

To bring to his granny after hip surgery and

The women spotting this traveler stare that bit longer than their male counterparts

Some commenting on the sunflowers bursting yellow;

In part jealous, in part awe, in part seeing who they are vase by

Stem in water knowing the accoutrement of such attention       

Is in ration optional, but in practice nothing of the sort

For life to sustain; seeds of kindness must be passed in such ways

Or what we are will perish, wilt, never be carried

By mothers, by sisters, by men walking infirmaries crying out for a breath of life

The flood comes in why males should even bother with flowers

And so and so, now you know