Tiffany's "Somedays" begins with the body, with the "scent of your neck" and a head pressed into the crease of a shoulder, and then slowly moves into a garden. That shift is the key to the poem. The speaker starts by describing a person she is physically close to, but the poem's real subject is what that person does to her mind. Love, here, is a kind of upkeep. It clears out sadness and plants something better, but it does not make the sadness disappear for good.
The poem is in free verse, with no rhyme and no regular beat. The lines are short and often break in the middle of a thought: "your arm around my / Slouching hip," "weeds that used to / grow." These breaks make the voice sound like someone talking out loud and choosing words as she goes. The lack of punctuation adds to this. Thoughts run on, and feelings are poured out without being tidied up. The opening memory is also built on "would": "You would pull me close... you would lean your lips." This is the grammar of habit, of something that happened often enough to become a ritual. The "slouching hip" is a nice small detail. It suggests a person who is tired or unguarded, and the "kiss of protection" on her forehead answers that vulnerability.
The central image arrives with the garden. At first the lines are slightly confusing. "Flowering thoughts of you" are said to "crowd my mind like weeds," which makes affection sound almost invasive. The poem then clarifies that the real weeds were the old, unhappy thoughts, and that the beloved has pulled them out and replaced them with flowers. The speaker's mood is described in plain, almost childlike words: "so happy / That you make me happy." Then the poem admits the weeds come back, and "pesky" is a revealing choice of word. It makes the sadness sound like an annoyance, something small and recurring, and yet the speaker is "sad and weary once again." The beloved's response is listed in homely terms: "shovel and seeds and / Your dirt and water." The repeated "and" makes the list feel like real, patient labour. Notice too that the speaker is passive in all this. Her mind is "your garden," not her own. Whether that is comforting or a little worrying is a good question for discussion.
The poem is also full of hedging. Three times it uses "seem": thoughts "seem to crowd," flowers "do not seem to wither," weeds "seem to grow back." The speaker never states anything with complete confidence. That small word of doubt prepares for the ending, where the orchid appears. It is planted "behind my ribs," close to the heart, and it is an unusual choice of flower, since orchids are associated with delicacy and need for care. The parenthesis, "(It is still there if you were wondering)," is the most charming moment in the poem, a shy, teasing aside that sounds like a real person speaking. But the last two lines turn it around. She plucks at the petals "wondering if you love me or not," the old "loves me, loves me not" game. The irony is that the flower is damaged by the test. She earlier said her flowers do not wither, yet her own doubt is the thing that strips them.
The sign-off, "-My friend," reads like the end of a letter. Judging by the text alone, it could be a signature or a way of naming the beloved, and the poem does not settle which. Either way, the word "friend" sits oddly beside the kisses and the question about love, which adds to the poem's uncertainty.
What makes "Somedays" worth reading is its honesty. It does not pretend that being loved fixes everything. The title, and the phrase "On some days," admit that happiness comes and goes. The extended garden metaphor is simple enough to follow at once, but it holds a real tension between trust in someone who tends you and the nagging question of whether the care is returned. The ending leaves that question open, with the orchid still in place and the petals going one by one.