First Flowers

He bought her roses at the station

They died in water by the sink

He kept the wrapper in his wallet

Like it meant more than he did

I think

He missed his mother’s Sunday birthday

Called her back late

Half asleep

Said “I’ll make it up next weekend”

Then drove faster through the week

Funny how a man’s first flowers

Are at his funeral

Lined in rows

All that love that never made it

To his hands while he was home

We bring the petals when he’s breathless

Dress the silence up in gold

A man’s first flowers at his funeral

For a heart we never really got to know

He said “I’m fine” like it was greeting

Wore that phrase like work clothes

Joked about the way he’s feeling

Turned his hurt into a show

They write it out now on the ribbon

“Wish we’d said this face to face”

All the words he could’ve used

Pinned in carnations on a vase

Funny how a man’s first flowers

Are at his funeral

Lined in rows

All that love that never made it

To his hands while he was home

We bring the petals when he’s breathless

Dress the silence up in gold

A man’s first flowers at his funeral

For a heart we never really got to know

What if we called when we thought of it? (oh)

What if we said “stay

You matter

Sit”

What if the blooms hit his doorstep first

Not the dirt and the marble and the scripted words

Funny how a man’s first flowers

Are at his funeral

Lined in rows

All that love that never made it

Could’ve held him

Could’ve grown

Let’s bring the petals to the living

Let them feel it in their bones

So no one’s first flowers at their funeral

Is the proof they weren’t as alone