Daffodils for Armand

C. Christine Fair

We met when the daffodils first bloomed.

Along 55th St, I walked that first morning

flush and smelling of you and

knowing you could not be had.

When the blooms turned brown and stems wilted

and as your calls stopped,

I threw myself full force upon this love

like a wild animal wrestling for its freedom.

Ashamed when it, at last, fled angry and frightened.

My doting husband offers to plant those flowers that I adore.

I can’t bare the thought of them in our own garden.

Enjoying the blooms of others, I sometime recall our failed affair.

My husband wonders what I see in their buttery perfection.

This was published in December 2019 in The Sandy Review Review, which is available at: https://sandyriverreview.com/2019/12/24/daffodils-for-armand/