Consider the Tulips

The dozen or so tulips stood tall in their vase,
shrouded in pastel cowls,
faces turned towards the ceiling.

One genuflects fully to the table,
perhaps exhausted from the effort of being admired,
or falling faint at the sight of missing roots.

Another, just behind, leans over the glass rim,
to look on with quiet concern
for the plight of its neighbor.

With each morning, one or two more
follow their comrades in repose.
Some did their best to ignore fate,
longing to know the world.

Lowering their shrouds to receive the sun,
they took up interpretive dance,
acted in local theater,
started journaling,
lost weight and meditated for hours.

Over time, they wrote long dirges of prose poetry,
attended lectures on wine tasting,
held dinner parties, inviting flowers of different breeds,
to show they were open-minded.

Some contemplated pollination with other stems,
but chickened out in the end.

As their petals aged and began to fade,
they curled towards the sky
like the arms of a Flamenco dancer,
begging the sun for one last kiss.