On my first day
they asked me to empty
the second hearse
filled with flower arrangements.
Most were wreaths of lilies
with large, faux-silk sashes
attached which read
“beloved wife”
and “loving mother.”
I asked my boss where
all the white flowers
should go
and he pointed
to a dull aluminum rack
with seven rows
of parallel hooks
parked on the grass
across a paved,
narrow lane.
“There.”
One by one I removed
the sickly-sweet bouquets
and hung them
on display, careful
that each sash remained
fixed in place
to be read
should someone
wander past.
Three days later and still
hanging in place all white
petals had burned
to brown from the late
June sun. And I wondered
while tossing them
into a big green
garbage can
if all the pain
and effort
was ever really
worth it
in the end.
