First Edit: The Last Flower

[Richard]

First Edit:

The Last Flower

I
I remember that one time
he brought carnations home,
how he smelled like metal and sweat.
Then there was the stink of bacon grease.
I always made him breakfast
after he worked back-shift.
Do you remember
when they put the price of eggs up?

Do you remember
the whore house on Henry Street?
And how George used to buy them
roses on pay day?
We used to tease him so much.

No one ever bought me roses.

Wait, who are you again?
My son?
He should be here soon.

II
She’s a girl again,
watching the dandelions outside her room
turn into puffs of smoke.
She tries to tell someone,
but the sound of her own voice
stops her.
Her confusion is like a wave
smashing Dominion Beach.

“Where is my husband?”
she asks,
aging a lifetime in a moment.
“Dead.”
She knows that word,
but thinks of the dandelions.
“Where is my daddy?”
she whimpers,
losing decades in seconds.
"Dead."
She cries,
her tears forgotten by the time
they roll off her cheeks.
“Where is my husband?”

Dead.
That word strangles her,
a weed choking the last flower
in an abandoned garden.


Original:

The Last Flower

Later,
she will remember the flowers
he brought home,
and how he smelled of sweat and metal
after his back-shift.
She'll smell the bacon grease
from the breakfast she made him that day.
She'll then repeat her side of the conversation
to a barren wall.
She doesn't hear the ensuing silence.

Right now,
she tells everyone about her family
and Whitney Pier.
Some of the nurses listen
while others become like dead friends,
their eyes blind and ears deaf.
“My son should be here
soon,” she says.

Tomorrow,
she’s a girl again,
watching the dandelions outside her room
turn into puffs of smoke,
escaping stacks from the steel plant.
She tries to tell someone,
but her voice sounds
old and dying.
Her confusion is like a wave
smashing Dominion Beach.

“Where is my husband?”
she asks.
“Dead.”
She knows that word,
but thinks of the dandelions.
“Where is my son?”
she whimpers.
“Gone away to work.”
She cries like an unwanted refugee.
“Where is my husband?”
she asks again,
wheezing with malcontent,
desperate for an answer.

Daily,
the truth strangles her
like a weed choking the last flower
in an abandoned garden.

[Achebe]

The Last Flower

Later,
she will remember the flowers
he brought home,
and how he smelled of sweat and metal
after his back-shift.
She'll smell the bacon grease
from the breakfast she made him that day
then repeat her side of the conversation
to a barren wall.

Right now,
she tells everyone about her family
and Whitney Pier.
Some of the nurses listen
while others become like dead friends,
their eyes blind and ears deaf.
“My son should be here
soon,” she says.

Tomorrow,
she’s a girl again,
watching dandelions outside her room
turn into puffs of smoke,
escaping stacks from the steel plant.
She tries to tell someone,
but her voice sounds
old and dying.
Her confusion like a wave
smashing Dominion Beach.

“Where is my husband?”
she asks.
“Dead.”
She knows that word,
but thinks of the dandelions.

Some changes suggested above in the edited verison- some of the lines in the original are a bit clunky, have tried to make them easier to read.

I don't quite get the 'Later' that the poem starts with, since the action in the poem moves across more than one day.
Anyhow, I think it's much more powerful to end the poem on that enigmatic line about dandelions you have there, channelising Hemingway.
The bits afterward appear overdone to me.
Best

[just mercedes]

The Last Flower

Later,
she will remember the flowers If she remembers, it will be roses, or violets, or carnations. Specific not generic.
he brought home,
and how he smelled of sweat and metal good contrast and linked sounds
after his back-shift. Is this information integral to the poem?
She'll smell the bacon grease
from the breakfast she made him that day. Very prosey
She'll then repeat her side of the conversation
to a barren wall. Is 'barren' needed? It's implied.
She doesn't hear the ensuing silence.

Right now, clumsy
she (tells everyone) talks? about her family
and Whitney Pier.
Some of the nurses listen
while others become like dead friends,
their eyes blind and ears deaf.
“My son should be here
soon,” she says.

Tomorrow,
she’s a girl again, She will be
watching the dandelions outside her room
turn into puffs of smoke,
escaping stacks from the steel plant. clumsy
She tries to tell someone,
but her voice sounds
old and dying. very prosey
Her confusion is like a wave
smashing Dominion Beach. good

“Where is my husband?”
she asks. 
“Dead.” Who answers her?
She knows that word,
but thinks of the dandelions. this is good
“Where is my son?”
she whimpers.
“Gone away to work.”
She cries like an unwanted refugee. hyperbole?
“Where is my husband?”
she asks again, 
wheezing with malcontent, not convincing
desperately? for an answer.

Daily,
the truth strangles her, 
like a weed choking the last flower
in an abandoned garden. Effective ending

It turns out there is no 'later' for her, that remembering is a thing of the past. I understand what you did with the first words of each strophe but for me it doesn't work. I think the POV of a disinterested observer as narrator works against 
your reader's indentification in the pathos of the scene. It's worth spending time on.

[vagabond]

The Last Flower               why cursive?

Later,                    I think you don´t need later, right now and tomorrow, the progress of  her condition is clear already in the poem.
she will remember the flowers                I´d keep this stanza (and the whole poem) in present tense
he brought home,
and how he smelled of sweat and metal
after his back-shift.
She'll smell the bacon grease
from the breakfast she made him that day.
She'll then repeat her side of the conversation       I think “her part of the conversation” would fit better  – “her side” opens another topic (of couples misunderstanding each other) which seems distracting to me as it´s not important in the state "she" is in.
to a barren wall.
She doesn't hear the ensuing silence.     

Right now,
she tells everyone about her family
and Whitney Pier.
Some of the nurses listen
while others become like dead friends,      yes, but would she realize that? I´d just write “the nurses seem to listen”
their eyes blind and ears deaf.    -  an accusatory tone that is not necessary.. appearing to listen is already sort of decent, better than pointing out her confusion to her. you could add “sometimes they answer like dead friends”
“My son should be here

soon,” she says.

Tomorrow,
she’s a girl again,
watching the dandelions outside her room
turn into puffs of smoke,
escaping stacks from the steel plant.
She tries to tell someone,    maybe “alert” instead of “tell”? would indicate her fear caused by confusion
but her voice sounds            you could write “but the words drown” instead of describing her voice.
old and dying.
Her confusion is like a wave
smashing Dominion Beach.

“Where is my husband?”
she asks.
“Dead.”
She knows that word,
but thinks of the dandelions.
“Where is my son?”
she whimpers.
“Gone away to work.”
She cries like an unwanted refugee.
“Where is my husband?”
she asks again,
wheezing with malcontent,
desperate for an answer.     this stanza seems too long to me, and a little too concrete.. maybe you can describe how she is not contended with the answers she gets

Daily,
the truth strangles her                          I d rather write that questions strangle her since that is all she has and truth is a more or less nebulous concept anyway not only for her..
like a weed choking the last flower
in an abandoned garden.

[Richard]

Hey all,
Thanks for the feedback. I was very curious if the time words at the start of most stanzas would work here, and it seems like they didn't. I intend to revise this one, and I greatly appreciate the many suggestions so far.

Thanks again,
Richard

[Richard]

Hey all,
I've revised this poem. I went in a different direction with the first part of it, so please let me know if it's an improvement.

Thanks in advance,
Richard