More Than Flowers

“I picked this for you,” she told me
as she ran up to present a yellow gift
in her outstretched palm.
We were walking through a field,
our party of twelve scattered,
and she’d been so busy with cousins
that I’d barely seen her in days.
They’d been hard days for me,
processing past griefs
and dispelling future fears
with little success,
trying to center in the present
while away from home,
trying to focus on beauty
and time with family
despite the blurriness of tears.
Her gift was unexpected
and wonderful.
At eight, how much longer
will she bring me stubby blooms?
I want to cherish every one.
“I love you even more than flowers,”
she added fervently.
I hugged her.
Tight.
“I love you more than flowers too.”