Petunias Reincarnated

i used to spend early mornings hosing the petunias before the sun became too brutal. trying not to splash the bees. sometimes doing it just to see what would happen. this always filled me with immediate regret. i continued to do it trying to find the one bee that would persist. once i realized none of them would, cluttered tears would pour through the windows onto my brother's breakfast cereal. to dry myself off i’d escape into the grape vines and the grass that never seemed to flourish fully. it didn’t really matter to me. i always remember it to be so green. jumping on fallen grapes with little bare feet just to hear the sound and feel the juice between my toes. watching the purple footsteps follow me comforted my wet sunburnt cheeks.

i passed by that house a year ago and they’d replaced the petunias with carnations. the fence that once cradled the crawling vines along its torso had been removed. replaced with something newer. more modern. two little girls i’d never seen before ran circles in the garden with a hose. i wonder if they ever think about the bees.