She found a flowerpot for the windowsill,
Planted a cup full of seeds
As the train of March’s white lace gown dragged by.
Her leaden stare sapped cactus and houseplant alike.
What did she know about marigolds?
She loved their band of piquant heads
Filtering the sun
While she slept all day in a rose of sheets.
Every morning, she would turn the russet pot
Like the clay was still wet;
She would open wide the blinds.
When the sun fell to the roof, splintered
Into a thousand promises,
One would dissolve in those flowers.