Wednesday, January 11, 2012

It is not the rose's fault - a poem

I remember yellow roses in his hand

As he feeds me brie and berries

Under a cherry tree

Pink petals landing on his hair

After my lover died

Someone told me that if I tried harder

I wouldn’t be so paralyzed

They didn’t want to feed me

I suppose

A gardener clipping a rose bush avoids the thorns

Learns unnecessary pain is a child’s game

That spilt blood blends with red roses

It is not the rose’s fault

Nothing comes of supposition in the realm of gravity

for those who think the degree of paralysis

can be controlled by whim

What might they say about

such grounded things as thorns?

Put the gloves away

bleed red on red if you must

I choose yellow and pink roses

Watching petals float higher than my arm can reach

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