The thunder lilies are massacred.

Severed sunshine heads loll on the grass.

And then the rain comes and stomps them in the mud.

When they are brown, like old blood, you will not even notice.

A cellphone is ringing.
Buzzing on the table, against the table, and screaming stereophonic.

Shall I pick up ? she asks, simply,
It is the only one, and perhaps will be for a long, long time,
Perhaps forever.
Though it hurts, I know it hurts.
I am alone, not lonely but I might be.
And not a message. This call or nothing.

The phone plays on her nerve, trouncing nasally on a note,
Sounding in her brain-
She thinks of cold nights and the fear of herself.
Of pitiful anger, aimed at nothing.

She steels herself and picks up.