Yesterday’s Bloom (2026)

I pruned the dying flowers 

From your beloved orchid today,

And in doing so

I began to think of

All of the things

I never got the chance to say.

Somebody told me 

It’s been two months, exactly,

Since anyone’s last seen your face.

Though that’s strange,

Time must be misplaced,

When I could swear 

I had just seen you

Pass by me yesterday.

Isn’t it funny,

How the people we miss most

We find a way 

To force them back into reality?

Not by meaning to, of course,

Or consciously,

Emotionally,

Nor metaphysically,

But in every stranger 

Whose nightshade silhouette 

Reminds us of their shape,

In every voice that carries an echo 

Of the words they used to say.

Perhaps that is what death does.

It teaches the mind to

To manufacture miracles 

From ordinary things,

And to keep the light of two

Alive inside of one being…

I suppose that is why I care so much,

And cry even harder

At every new petal that blooms today.

Perhaps some part of me believes 

That if I keep their 

Delicate skin from withering

I might keep something of you

From doing the same.

M.H. John