empezar

It might have been at the circus.
Your mouth stuffed with popcorn--
an orange kernel flake stuck between two teeth,
the clown with the red flower that
refused to spray, the acrobats that lay--
that spin like toy tops on linoleum.
I fell in love with the
lions that yawn, the
tigers and the juggling bear.
It might have begun there. Or maybe
it was at the drug store--when we
bought your mother that card
the one with yellow flowers on the
front and the inside that read
You're special. It might have been
at the dinner table, over the daisies, over
deviled eggs, over two spoons. Perhaps
that was when I swooned. Or it may
have happened in the theater, at the bar,
in the car-- with the coconut air freshener dangling
from the mirror.
Honestly, dear, I can't remember where;
either way, I'm almost certain,
there were flowers there.