Fairy Tale for Gardeners

Angela Wei

He, donning the

skeleton of marriage,

knelt for her. & they

seeded flowers,

glassy as

a backhand’s kiss,

while the sun hammered

their oyster-breath into

memory. I unwound when

the night cracked open, like

hands against a mouth

whipped into rope


Here: a ribcage & the stub

of a singed home.

Its ashes shooting

into daisies. Its bones

breaking into earth. The


blackening by the second.

Because he forgot

to catch the roses

in porcelain

shells. Because he—

because she— because

I fell out of flowers

& they told me it was love.