Carnation
A coronation for a buttonhole
near a man’s impenetrable heart
cloves drift from the spot
tickling the nose, begging entry
A crown for the wrists
of beautiful youth bound
in a fancy dress for the prom
full of promises not yet broken
A tightly ruffled wreath
in the bundle from interflora
who outlasts the roses and other
less hearty blooms,
with its princely feet rooted
in the blood of cornerstones
Orchid
Inside the glass house was fragrance
and peace, an incubator
for the exotic nestled in the
mundane, shifting climates,
from zone to zone we wandered,
year on year, two lucky girls,
and then three – one small –
until one by one each was plucked
and packed and sent away
to nestle new and make her own
way, no longer incubated but set
free to bloom where she would
choose, far from the gardener’s
heavy fist
This post represents the last of the flower poems I wrote last year. Thank you, readers, for your time!
The Poetry Patio 