February 14th

She hated carnations.
They reminded her of funerals,
and long Sundays spent listening
to celibate priests talk about a being
she knew didn't exist.
She hated carnations.
They smelled like sickness,
and her grandfather's funeral.
Like Easter morning, and old folks homes.
She hated carnations.
She had told him so.
She didn't hint about it, like usual.
She came right out and said the words,
"I hate carnations, they remind me
of death and churches."
No room for interpretation,
it was a statement of fact.
She liked dandelions, daisies,
roses were nice, as were lilies.
She liked every flower but carnations.

Carnations she hated.

Carnations are what he brought her on
February 14th.