Click play below to listen to a reading of this poem by the author.
Camille stands among the lilies
scissors in hand.
In the parlor
an empty vase
glistens beneath the chandelier
awaiting her return, longing to be filled.
She looks from one
perfect white blossom
to the next,
hesitant,
unable to decide.
They are perfect
where they are,
as they are.
And so she sighs,
turns for the house
as the scissor blades slide coldly
together.
Back in the parlor
she tries to explain
the beauty of nothing,
the bliss of inaction,
but the vase does not understand.