Petals in your Pocket

Rebekah Goodwin

the first time I saw him was a Saturday night

I had been waiting when I finally met him it was Sunday

the day of rest the day of worship the day of sabbath

and at first I thought him kind kind in the way a vet puts down a dog


we didn’t talk much little did I know the rapid pace in which someone can grow over you become attached you take their poison and make life.

they become your sun you their garden

spring has arrived

my garden was blooming you made your home in my bed you were a gardener you loved to collect flowers

I realised too late the only flowers you collected were mine

roses without thorns come autumn I was left bare


you swing by unannounced I have no choice but to let you in I embraced you told myself things would get better

you you were greedy you took my precious stems picked up your shears

my life your topiary

left me with nothing you got what you came for did you know

you left the garden gate swinging on your way out

now you are gone again I go about life scarred but going

you keep my petals in a pocket one day you will collect more

never return no take backs we were only ever on lay-by

I scream at you how much heartbreak can one person carry on their shoulders covered by umbrellas so no-one can see

I haven’t seen you since the last funeral

which was a Monday sabbath has ended.

I speak to you at night I ask you are you looking after my petals? are the roses doing ok?

we know each other well enough now that you can tell me the truth

the only answer I receive is the one I make in my head and now I am wilted I do not grow

I am stuck in your eternal winter you are a wicked thief in broad daylight sir give me back what is mine


you cannot return a flower to soil and expect it to grow

I planted new roses today so that when I look at them I look at you

I find warmth in my mind in my empty garden the sun finds its way in the end

I don’t feel the sharp sting of your presence like a butcher’s knife to a lung quite as much as I used to

your memory is now a bee sting

but still I beg of you please knock

next time you enter.


Rebekah Goodwin is an emerging writer who is currently undertaking a Bachelor of Fine Arts majoring in Creative Writing. Rebekah has been writing poetry and short stories from a tender age. Her work revolves around the intricacies of everyday life and events that everyone experiences.