To Kill a Buttercup

To Kill a Buttercup
for my son, so he may bloom as he pleases
by Katie Burnett

Have you ever seen a Buttercup?
Who hasn’t yet opened up, and
had the chance to stretch and bloom,
into a bold,
buttery bloom?

Have you ever seen a Buttercup
who is basking in the sun?
Just being Young?

Yellow petals barely showing,
peek through the haven
of a green nest.
Waiting for the right time,
to release.

But your urge
to watch Her bloom,
and place Her in a room,
makes your hands reach out
to pluck
the beautiful unbloomed Buttercup.
Right from His place in the earth.
You take Him out of His dirt—
and hold Him
in your enormous hands,
planning your intervention.

Your craving
for what has always been—
a flower open, yellow, and bright
creeps through your fingers,
taking what is not yours
in the name of constancy.

Your human tendency
to advise Nature, tell her
how she should be—
to place Her in a vase,
in the center of a room

and surely die—
it’s what you want,
It’s why you cry.

So, taking your hands,
you begin
gently destroying
the petals of the Buttercup,
trying your best
to make Him open up.

As the Buttercup begins
to die,
you feel ashamed;
you don’t know
why you couldn’t
just leave
to bloom.

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