Three varieties of forsythia, all removed. A loss. Have they
been moved, to be reconstructed? Without these three bodies I
have lost remembrance. Their bodies have been manipulated.
Who will mourn them? They were set apart, a series of flames in
the grass, dwarf stars to an astronomer. The decision was made
that no one would notice their absence. Tiny reminders of
renewal, not showgirls. What is their afterlife? Three
forsythia, like moss on a headstone. I could never decide which had the most
beauty. Professionals know better; they will diagnose what ruins
will follow. Their bodies have been removed. Their growth
has been deemed non-essential to what is plotted. There are others
elsewhere who will be appreciated so the decision was made to tear
them out of where they were wanted. The decision was made
without my consultation. They started the treatment without me being
there. They took away the beauty that was to them a patient without
a boundary. They built a wall that ended things. They ended
her life with ill-advised treatment. Ended with a tumor
the size of a dwarf star. Ended it without me there. It could not be
removed, only treated until she died. Without it something new
can come. Growth is manipulation. Intent is an undisclosed treatment,
renewal is a plot.

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