she stands before the camera,
knee-length green-smudged frock
crumpled at the hem.
her impatient eyes beg to hurry
although she loves to pose --
a pretty picture with her innocent smile and
wildflowers in her chubby hand.

the flash goes off,
and, a moment later, so does she:
slipping around the screen door,
sunhat abandoned on the stairs
in her quest for a vase
(a jar, a drinking glass?)
and fresh water.

watching her go, my own wildflower memores return;
dandelion puffs, queen anne's lace, and
those petite purple blossoms whose name i never learned --
and i remember how,
upon finding my flowers crumbling
a week after collection,
i felt
at all.