my grandmother lived in a quiet old house
hidden on an infinite road of wooded green
sleepy mist often hugged its walls
we would visit each month
and my brother and I would run around playing
painting the grey halls with colorful laughter
when our wave of excitement subsided
I would lay on the soft carpet of the living room
and stare at the vase on the wood table
in this teal vase was a small bouquet of roses
roses with evergreen stems
and petals as soft as a butterfly’s wings
sunset pink and yellow
too delicate to touch
pastels within a faded room
their silence astonished me
they never seemed to move
no matter how much I looked at them
every time we returned
they were on the table of the living room
peering from their porcelain home
my grandmother lived in a quiet old house
when she left
we packed up her belongings
and I realized her favorite roses were plastic
