Cilantro flowers

I know they were only
a waste of space in the garden
kept the cilantro from
growing longer,
better sitting on our
kitchen table anyways
but somehow these little white flowers in a mason jar
fill up an empty space inside me
with warmth and happiness and
something that feels
like a smile.

I know it only
took moments to
snip scissors across the stems
slip the severed pieces into
a jar of water
but weeks and weeks after those
flowers lived on our table,
I can still recall them –
the clusters of tiny white blossoms
thin green stems, blurry behind
the words engraved across the jar
as though they’re still there, bright as ever.

and I know they were tiny
were easy to find a spot for
among the plates, the silverware, the clutter of the hundred things I need to put away –
but these flowers sparked something bigger and they took me back
to a place where things were joyful
a place where things were right
a place where the simple things counted,
and I don’t know why,
can’t explain why
I haven’t told you how my family makes me happy
my school
my life
so don’t ask me why something tiny matters so much
but maybe ask the cilantro flowers
in the mason jar on my kitchen table
because they seem to know things I don’t –
how to care
how to smile at someone passing by and catch their heart
how to take them into your arms, even if you yourself don’t have any,
and bring them back to love.