I Buy My Monster Roses

Diannely Antigua

Though the people on the internet help too.

They send money by pressing a small button

on their screens. It would be disingenuous

to claim all the credit — we can’t heal

or hurt alone. I sniff the tops of the rose heads

like a newborn’s scalp — fresh skin and hair

only a few days picked. I try to arrange the flowers

on my bed, create a romantic scene

like all the 90s rom-coms I still watch. I’m stuck

in the past, I know. I’m stuck in the present,

I know that too. I thought the roses

could be a cure, and maybe in a small way

they were, each petal I plucked so gently

from the stems gave in to me.



about the author