The Wilting Of Spring Flowers Poem by Vonnie Postit

do you remember that day
that day i was hesitant
to hold your hand?
you pointed out the
simplicity of the beauty
of spring flowers
and said sugar sweet words to me
the way you do.
i deflected your invitation
for me to come closer
by telling you
i hate how
people always pick
the most radiant
of flowers to pull loose from
its mother root.
don't they understand
the minute you cut that cord
the flower begins to die?
every cell begins to undo itself,
every inch of its beauty begins
to be less than it was
just a moment ago
just because
they chose it;
the way you choose a toy at the store,
or how i chose you.

you, beautiful, kind boy.
i get so concerned
that perhaps
the day i picked you
from the moment i brought
the idea of us into light
that you have begun to wilt.
that every piece of you
is clinging to a source of light in me
that does not burn with pride
like it seems.
i'm concerned you do not
see the fragility of my sun.

i worry you don't see that
my sun is balanced on
uneven rocks.
i am afraid that the next time
i am hesitant to hold your hand,
or the next time you try to show
kindness that boys tend to show
girls they care for,
i will create metal barriers
that only i can understand,
that in response
you will lose more and more color
until so little of you remains
that i am forced to press the memory
of you into my notebook
or between the pages of the books
you lend me to read.
will you continue to care for me
through the pages of a book
i never cared enough to finish,
long after your color and beauty
are already gone?


you ask me why i talk of fear as much as i do.
the reason is i am a collector of beautiful things,
sweet boy, and beauty can never outlive us.