My Husband Never Buys Me Flowers by Katie Hoerth

My Husband Never Buys Me Flowers

I see them every Saturday, those men
cradling bouquets of fresh-cut flowers
in the grocery check-out line — dyed daisies,
carnations, or a single rose in rouge.

I’m emptying my shopping cart behind
one as he pays. He shifts inside his suit
taps a polished shoe, unsheathes his wallet,
disappears like mist into the night.

It’s enough to make a gal feel jipped
out of romance. Isn’t this what love
ought to look like: Men on tall white horses,
charming men with flowers in pressed suits,

men who slay the dragons, save the day?
I carry my own groceries to the car.
At home, my husband slumbers on the couch,
resting from another day of working

in the garden, trimming back the chaos
of the oak whose shade was suffocating
my marigolds. His open palms are blooming
with blisters like the petals of a rose.

by Katie Hoerth

Editor’s Note: The imagery in the last two lines of this poem pushes the reader out of the narrator’s mind and into a bouquet of emotion.


3 responses to “My Husband Never Buys Me Flowers by Katie Hoerth”

  1. mandibelle16 Avatar

    I love the contrast in this piece. The reality verses the fairytale version. A knight buying flowers for his wife, verses the husband trimming back the oak suffocating her marigolds. He’s protecting and giving her flowers just like this imaginary knight, but in the realistic sense. He’s not trying to appear a certain way. He’s demonstrating his love through action. Which is the best 🙂

  2. Jill Clark Avatar

    Loved this poem–yes, this is what love is! Reminded me of Dorothy Parker’s “Choice.”

  3. Marissa Glover Avatar

    Love this: “His open palms are blooming with blisters.” And I echo the previous comments.

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