white carnations

seven heads, ruffled, the colour of unbleached paper. they came wrapped in a cone from the florist for a name day that nobody quite remembers. the leaves are sage-grey and stiff and smell faintly of clove when you brush them.

the mug is pewter, denser than the carnations need. it was a beer mug once. it stands on the hall table, between the thimble dish and the lamp that is never lit. the keeper moves it an inch to the left every morning when they pass.

they will hold for nine days. the outer petals will brown first. you will pinch them off, and the bouquet will look smaller and more certain each evening.

field-note — carnations do not drop. they go from white to ivory to ash in slow degrees, and they do it standing up. it is a flower for a long entrance hall.

see also: a wedding bouquet · white lilies · the bouquets wing · lampshade-rose