forgotten violets

when I was thirteen 
I thought I was dying

strangers looked the other way
when they saw me bend
under the weight
of my stillborn bones

my specialist
 a man in his mid-twenties
sat with me in the exam room
uncomfortable with my willingness
to give up

while I got poked with needles
and squeezed the doctor's hand
so he could see how strong
I wasn't
my mother sat in the 
waiting room

I went home
to alone
my only friends
a group of african violets
on a rusty tv tray stand
in front of a bedroom window

I watered them
when I couldn't bend my wrists
I placed them in 
slants of sunlight
when I was too weak
to get out of bed

 in a year I would be like
all the other girls
laughing and smiling
while some boy pretended
at loving me

I would miss those nights alone
struggling with my affliction
dabbling in death's whispers
spoon-feeding pain to the moon
with only my cat as a companion

the violets went unwatered
while I bathed in boys and sunlight
their purple petals turned brown

all those yesterdays
so easily tucked away 
when I still had the faith
of more tomorrows