Red Clover

I dream of him less than I used to – 

But our story always starts the same. 

I am small, and his oil-stained hands hold me like the Red Clover, 

So tightly that I think he’ll never let me go. 

And he tells me he loves me. 

We are happy, and I begin to grow,  

My petals reaching to him through the overpass. 

He smells like exhaust and cigarettes, and it makes me smile – 

And he tells me he loves me. 

He holds me tightly in December. 

His oil-stained hands wilt my petals. 

And I think I just might die. 

But he tells me he loves me, so I grow strong for him. 

I carry us through the overpass, and he hasn’t looked at me in a long time. 

And I’ve tried to shine brighter for both of us, but his willow eyes are invisible. 

And all I can see is his cigarette smoke, and my petals suffocate. 

It’s been a long while since he’s told me he loves me; 

So I try to love for both of us. 

It has been a year; 

And the oil has wasted my roots away, 

And his cigarette smell makes me frown – 

And feel so tired, and he tells me he does not love me. 

And I cry and cry, because he used to hold me like the Red Clover. 

I decide to leave for someone who holds me like they would never let go. 

So I pack my petals in two plastic trash bags, 

And I leave my roots on that gravel road. 

I never look back.