What power does a solitary zinnia hold
in hands hardened by kitchen chores?
Deadhead, gush of scarlet,
sad but sage encouragement.
I look to find in its button bloom
the beauty I do not possess.
For the day is bushy bright,
if not overly fragrant.
A moment plucked,
a symbol of regret.
Solitary summer confinement,
grease stains on a striped apron.
The love I could have had,
but now will never get.
Forsaken sessile floret
with nothing but this moment left
as the noonday break is spent.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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