You always remembered :
One time, in passing, I told you
“Irises are my favourite flower”.
Every year on my birthday,
an Iris from your garden.
One year, a drawing of an eyeball.
“Here’s your birthday iris,” you’d written.
Sometimes – often – I hardly understood
what you were talking about.
You gave my meagre musical talent
far more credit
than anyone ought to have.
As a housewarming gift, you
visited, and brought an ice bucket
and a purple onion flower, and a clipping
from a green and purple vine from your house.
The bucket from the antiques mall you raved about
had penguins on it
and reminded you of me.
You said the onion flower would take root
if I planted it, but I murdered it.
The vine floundered.
Goddamn it, I’m going to miss you, David.
I could have done more for you
I should have done more for you
I would have done more for you.