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November Bouquet

December 16, 2008

When the white flowers wilted, they were replaced by fresh pink ones.

All weekend my apartment was chilly, too frosty for such dainty petals. Not to mention, too frosty for me.

I pulled on a turtleneck, but had no sweater tiny enough to warm their stems, no scarf slender enough to muffle their cold leaves.

And so, the white flowers’ successors drooped into a skirt. They shimmy in a hula, lone white blossom swaying in the middle.

Nearly as tragic as the sharp-tongued rose in The Little Prince, with a single thorn to defend herself against the world and who nestled beneath a bell jar as her side of the planet grew dark.

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