The flowers sent here by mistake,
signed with a name that no one knew,
are turning bad. What shall we do?
Our neighbor says they’re not for her,
and no one has a birthday near.
We should thank someone for the blunder.
Is one of us having an affair?
At first we laugh, and then we wonder.
The iris was the first to die,
enshrouded in its sickly-sweet
and lingering perfume. The roses
fell one petal at a time,
and now the ferns are turning dry.
The room smells like a funeral,
but there they sit, too much at home,
accusing us of some small crime,
like love forgotten, and we can’t
throw out a gift we’ve never owned.
(Dana Gioia)
More Poetry from Dana Gioia:
Dana Gioia Poems based on Topics: Name, Home, Charity, Time, Laughter, Error & Mistake, Curiosity, Crime, Birthdays- Litany (Dana Gioia Poems)
- Planting A Sequoia (Dana Gioia Poems)
- Summer Storm (Dana Gioia Poems)
- The Lost Garden (Dana Gioia Poems)
- The Next Poem (Dana Gioia Poems)
- California Hills in August (Dana Gioia Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Time Poems, Name Poems, Home Poems, Charity Poems, Laughter Poems, Curiosity Poems, Crime Poems, Error & Mistake Poems, Birthdays PoemsBased on Keywords: sickly-sweet