Corinne
She was born in a field of carnations
exactly 14 white flowers
the rest yellow or red
For her 13th birthday
Papa brought her carnations
And she lay them at mama’s grave
For her 14th birthday
Papa brought her roses
Seven roses
Seven roses
One for her mama
One for her hair
One for her room
One for her garden
And three for the remaining years
Of her mama’s life.
Each year
Her papa brought her one less flower
Six
Five
Four
Three
Two
Until one year,
she was given no flowers.
None.
She should have gotten ONE,
She told herself.
She went to visit her Mama.
There was her papa.
Looking confused.
Torn.
Undecided.
He weeped.
Corrine comforts the man who gives her flowers.
He draws out a knife
Stabs her in the back
In more than one way.
She falls atop Mama
And the last remaining flower
Is weaved within her hair.

 
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