Ben Cooper

Elegy to the Vase of Dried Flowers on Your Bedside Table

Flowers, too, live on a fuse—bound
to shrivel as their water turns
tired. The softened glow of the low light
leaks through the irregular gaps

in the blinds. June gloom illuminates
the vase by your head—filled,
empty. You lay, wasting wishes
on the lilies sitting dormant—unplanted,

unplanned. I got them for you. I got them
for your Mom. The sound of each dying drop
of dried petals whispers that tired cliché,
mocking—she loved me, she loved me

not. Sometimes, I hear the brush of tired petals
against your hand. Then it drops
by your cheek—your only source
of warmth. Longing to be something

other than what you were, if only
you could—if only. You chose to neglect
these, all the same. With such decision,
such a calculated cold. Do you hear

the empty swing set creaking
in the family garden? Just past it,
that old trail you used to take with your mom
on the way to school. Untouched

leaves lay in the path, soaking
in the swampy silence of the spring rain.

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Ben Cooper is an undergraduate student studying both creative writing and philosophy at Salisbury University. His work has appeared in Penn Review. He is also an assistant editor at Poet Lore. His poetry aims to provoke deep thought and reflection from his audience, exploring the absurdities of life, the mysteries of faith and the necessity of hope.