The flowers I left

have been stolen,

a big footprint

in mud.

I can hear her:

Poor guy maybe

needed them to give

to his living mother

or daughter.

Maybe she’s right,

flowers live and die

for the living.

I spot a carnation

dropped, slightly mashed,

stem broken. That one

is better suited for

a dead mother.

I place it gently

on the stone,

picture her happily

watching the thief

with big feet

surprising someone he loves

enough to steal for

whose face is suddenly blooming.

Neil Carpathios is the author of seven full-length poetry collections, most recently, Lifeaholics Anonymous (Kelsay Books, 2023). He teaches at the University of Mount Union in Ohio.