by Cindy Veach
Knowing they’re my favorite he brings red gerbers to the settlement meeting. Guilt schleps them back to my apartment. Guilt places them in the living room. I can barely look at them on the borrowed coffee table. Watch how I avert my eyes when I walk by. I decide to help them die. Withhold water. Resist investigating the stems for telltale signs of rot. They were scarlet. Now they’re darker. They’re dried up blood. They sit there and insinuate.
Cindy Veach is the author of Her Kind (CavanKerry Press, forthcoming 2021), Gloved Against Blood (CavanKerry Press), named a finalist for the Paterson Poetry Prize and a ‘Must Read’ by The Massachusetts Center for the Book, and the chapbook, Innocents (Nixes Mate). Her poems have appeared in the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day Series, AGNI, Michigan Quarterly Review, Poet Lore, Diode and elsewhere. She is the recipient of the Philip Booth Poetry Prize and the Samuel Allen Washington Prize. Cindy is co-poetry editor of Mom Egg Review. cindyveach.com