Beautiful

What kind of flower child did you turn into?

I should have known in middle school

when you told me you wanted to name your kids

after paint colors: Alizarin, Cerulean, Thalo, etc. -

I thought you were nuts but too pretty

to abandon to yourself. And that's the problem.

Everthing has to be beautiful for you. It would be easier

if you judged beauty by perfection or expense

but you loved your grandmother's cheap thing more than my 

eighteen-carat bling, you called it. It has original beauty,

it's lovely because it's ordinary and unexciting," which makes me wonder

about me. What I'd give to know if you loved me for my unexciting nose.

You're lucky I don't have allergies. I'm patient but not -

that - bush on my desktop, too. Not another bird. You hush me:

he's sleeping! I only just got him to eat. For the life of me I can't

see beauty in that naked gangly thing. Or take

the way you leave pastries and notes for everyone in the office. Won't let me

complain about anyone, because everyone's 

special and unique and     beautiful,

and they have hard days too. I started throwing thank-yous out 

before you saw them but nothing daunted you, until this.

How you asked me meekly to open the blinds I can't forget. You never

sighed before, for yourself, but you're wan now and wilted and I can't

remember all the plants but you don't seem to care that Ruby died.

What's the point of life if I can't do something beautiful?

But that's not right. Since the day you were born your face lit up the room

and you weren't even trying.