2000/ranuncs

The ranunculus leaves have yellowed
and the petals have fallen,
perpendicular now to the stem.
The buds have never opened,
they never do once cut.
A pink petal falls on the open book,
clashing with the russet cover.
I don’t know why I’ve left
this bouquet so long.
If everything crashes into
something else,
what will this become,
other than compost, of course.
Once a week the newspaper runs
a photo of the ranunculus fields,
grade school kids coloring,
amateur artists at their easels.
Persian buttercups,
this morning’s paper said.
I’ve never heard them called that.
They didn’t grow where I grew up,
and so can’t fill me with the longing
that daffodils can.

3/23/00