Out of the earth, stems cut,

And into the glass.

A spectacle, a marvel,

A reminder of the

Outside, placed inside.

They dazzled for days

And then one by one

They drooped, stooped over the

Cold, round edge of the

Vase, reaching for the door.

And she said, "It's time,

These must go.

They might delight a few more

Days, but no! Look at this

Single one limping. They must

Go." And into that brown bag

They were buried, without ceremony

Or song, amid napkins and other plastic

Horribles. And that's how

I found them. Heartbroken,

Ruffled like goose feathers,

Waiting to be taken out

Again. To feel the air,

Even if it would be among

The dead and uncompostables, let their feathers

Rest back into the earth

They were clipped from.

"Let us wilt in the place

We call home," they said.

And I just wanted to caress

One - its soft, pink goose feathers -

And tell it that it was the

Most beautiful thing I had

Seen all day.

The most beautiful refuse,

Waiting in the shell of a tree,

In the trash.

And still, I wish

It could spread its goose wings

And feel the late afternoon sun

On those tired petals

One last time.