discarded

a poem inspired by abandoned flowers on the west 4th street subway platform

They used to belong to someone

They’ve been thrown away

And yet almost thrown away gently?

Placed somewhere else.

But also destined to be abandoned again.

They’ll eventually go into a dumpster.

Unless someone rescues them beforehand.

And even if they’re rescued, they will eventually die.

Flowers don’t live forever.

Humans don’t live forever.

Forever is a feeling, but certainly not a fact of life.

I am not a flower.

But I am not forever.

Nothing is forever.

But I am not nothing.

Those flowers were something to someone, even though they are no longer.

I will be something to someone again.

I will be something to someone again.