In Praise of Plastic Flowers
Because I come from a long line of bisexual nonbinary pacifists
married to cis gender hetero army officers, and because
the opening of this poem is a lie, but a sweet one:
a silk flower of a sentiment. I just want to say it somewhere:
I am not alone. I inherited what is good from people who tried
to do right but also did wrong, who enabled pain
while cultivating love where it wasn’t expected to grow.
My grandparents appreciated bowls of painted stone grapes
and apples because it showed them what plenty might look like
on their tables. Every day is an argument in favor of surprise.
I show my daughter how to twist a plastic plumeria blossom
the color of margarine into her dark hair
because real plumeria blooms far away from where we are
while the Dollar Tree near our house is bountiful with 10¢ knockoffs,
and I remember how little beauty has to do with exactness.
It is more concerned with what we hope about the contradictory world:
that it remains both soft and callused, rare and everywhere,
that it is what it has been and what it could be too.
Originally published in Hole in the Head Review
Audio: Abby E. Murray reads “In Praise of Plastic Flowers”
Abby E. Murray (they/them) is the editor of Collateral, a literary journal concerned with the impact of violent conflict and military service beyond the combat zone. Their first book, Hail and Farewell, won the Perugia Press Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award, and their second book, Recovery Commands, won the Richard-Gabriel Rummonds Poetry Prize and was released by Ex Ophidia Press in 2025. For now, they live with their family in the Pacific Northwest, where they teach writing and care for a clutch of rescue pets.



This poem's opening worked on me, then showed me how to trust what followed—"Every day is an argument in favor of surprise." After the illustrations of painted stone fruit and plastic plumeria blooms, the bottom lines opened the time capsules like refreshed vows. The dying past lives in us; we keep what we can't throw away. Somehow you reminded me of Camus's observation: "Real generosity towards the future lies in giving all to the present."
This poem is landing with me kindestly. It's nourishing my tired mindsoul in ways I hesitate to try to convey.