In the leafless trees whose names I don’t know, woodpeckers are preying
boisterously. I can’t find them. I’m not from a people who have done this,

at least recently, but I’m trying to get to know the plants— even
downloaded an app. I jam a stem of toothy florets into frame,

shoot. Calico aster, the screen tells me. Calico aster, I tell my toddler.
He digs in the dying stems, tries to pull out the roots. He’s a child

Lady, I’m sorry you wasted your money
on that grocery store rose, petals creased
white from cheap scrunchy cellophane, sinewy
green scabs where there used to be thorns.
Sorry you wasted your time ripping your french tips
into the flower’s dark crimson hips, petal-flesh