Dying grass tickled her feet, it smelled of roses and damp wood
with a hint of loneliness
that is where she grew her garden.
Amongst the blossoms, she had her favourites,
she watered them more often and put the radio between the three of them – since they say classical music is good for plants.
Because they had large yellow petals that reminded her of the sun,
she scribbled with a permanent marker
smiling faces on them
so they could become her “smiling flowers”
The same way a magician can convince you that
magic is real,
she convinced herself their smiles were genuine –
“see, they don’t come off!” she yells as she wipes their drawn-in smiles with her hand.
and when you ask her what it’s like hanging out with flowers,
she tells you about the peaches and Mozart until midnight
but never about how in her dreams, her friends are human
and they care, too