Conditional

Alex Carrigan

If the flowers bloom early this year,

then maybe you never actually were here.

 

You were never actually here

in the yard, in the vanishing snow.

 

The vanishing snow didn’t reveal your bones,

didn’t unveil the murder weapon.

 

The murder weapon fell into the creek

with you, carried to the sea with a sigh.

 

With a sigh, I watch the flowers return,

each bud’s birth a new promise of decay.

 

A new promise of decay starts each time

I remember you were once here.

 

You were once here, but left too soon,

so the flowers bloom early this year.