I had sunflowers growing in a pot on the balcony,
my blue-painted balcony overlooking the lake.
We were so broke we ate popcorn for dinner,
and put condiment packets on toast.
You took the trash out because it was dark,
and I sewed your buttons back on.
In that quiet sadness we weren’t old enough to face,
we had refuge in blanket forts.
When the sunflowers died you filled up the pot
with cigarette butts and beer tabs-
I buried it when you left.
A long time ago, I grew sunflowers;
we both got money now.