by Taylor Fedorchak
Sorry You Didn’t Get into Syracuse Flowers
A collection began to form on our kitchen
countertops: lavender spider
mums. (Those things are resilient. Maybe
they were supposed to teach me something.)
Light pink daisies, a flower I couldn’t
identify that was painted gold. The sorry you
didn’t get into Syracuse flowers
added to the Happy Valentine’s
Day, I love you & too bad UMass Amherst
rejected you on February 14th flowers.
After that other no, I almost expected him
to come home with something for me.
When we started dating, I could see
traces of his old relationship clinging
like cobwebs under park benches.
Facebook is the record nobody wants. I asked
once, why he bought his ex anniversary
flowers then broke up with her just two weeks
later. Obligation. Sometimes it still bothers me,
to scroll far enough where I can see her
sunflowers and red roses from 2016. Their bottle
of wine in the background.
Through Sliding Glass Doors and Other Lenses
Her yellow dress will unravel eventually,
and that’s fine because she hates
the matching shade on his kitchen walls.
He told her she should have worn red,
(but you really shouldn’t at someone else’s
wedding). Raw amethyst hangs
around her throat and his sunglasses cost
more than her entire outfit. Neither
of them try the cake. None of the sugar
that looks like sand. He undresses her only
when she asks him to. She doesn’t hold
his hand during
the service. Doesn’t put her hand
on his thigh during sunset vows,
or wrap her arms around his waist
while the photographer drifts
the beach. Pulls her dark curls up even
though she knows he prefers them down.
|Taylor Fedorchak is a third-year MFA candidate at New Mexico State University, where she teaches and is Managing Editor of Puerto del Sol. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Moon City Review, decomP, The Shore, Bluestem Magazine, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and elsewhere.|