In the immediate aftermath
of asking the only question
left to ask 

your eyes stray
to the vase of two-week old
brown-eyed susans
on the kitchen table

to the last quarter-inch
of fouled green gray water
in the bottom 

to the petals and pollen
ringing the vase

to the withering stems
bending with the weight
of their brown flaking burdens

to your card 
flat and face down
next to it

in the aftermath of 
asking a question
that you now realize
did not need to be asked