life cycle of a petunia

Yesterday evening the rain came.
It pelted my flowers:
Sheets and pillowcases of rain.
My flowers were thirsty

And I was grateful
Until I saw what it did to my petunias.
It battered and bruised their blossoms,
Turning them brown and slimy in the night.

So patiently I remove the spent blooms
Until all that is left
Is the promise of tight pale buds
Awaiting the sun.

Why do I do this, I wonder?
It’s almost autumn, and already
Many of the tiny leaves have turned yellow
And lie scattered around the pot.

It’s a petunia’s nature to die
With the summer,
Having exhausted the sweet sap
That runs through its tender stems.

I do it because amongst the dead and dying leaves
I can see tiny green shoots
That do not yet know
The life cycle of a petunia.

I do it because I know
That if I were a petunia,
I would rather bloom
Than die.

© Susan M. McKendree
August 25, 2004