The Flower Lady

A Truth

The Flower Lady

Hands   callused, stained and darkened   cracked from   stripping stems   and sometimes bleeding the Flower Lady   stands alone among   her wares-   chrysanthemums, azaleas and the like   makes selections   stem by stem   and   one by one assortments for occasions   to honor   mothers   birth and death   and   lovers... The cold and wet   uncaring of the stems   make numb her fingertips   the musty odors   of the plants   the cruelty of roses But the flowers must be served   despite the pain Her youth was spent   in fields   frolicking and playing   amid the blooms   marveling at   the colors and the shapes   acknowledging the varieties   weaving garlands for her hair   and   making collections   for the vases   in her room   sometimes bending down to catch a scent... And now it is her work. Do you like flowers   I asked I knew the answer   before she could reply Thrusting bunches into   chilled water No, she said

Author's Note

This is based on an actual conversation in a Tokyo hospital while we were convalescing