FADED ROSE.

A WOMAN KEEPS A ROSE PRESSED BETWEEN PAGES OF HER BOOK OF POEMS FROM A FORMER LOVER.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You still have that
First red rose he
Brought you pressed tight
Between pages

 

Of Shelly’s verse.
The pages have
Been spoilt and stained
As if blood had

 

Been spilt. The thorns
Have snapped off, the
Red rose is quite
Harmless now. A

 

Small dead insect
Lies on the dark
Faded petals;
A memory

 

Opens up as
The rose did once.
You recall the
Words written on

 

The card: Love you
Always. Scribbled
In black ink, his
Old pen had leaked.

 

That card is tucked
Away in a
Black purse with old
Receipts and notes

 

Of outdated
Blue currency.
Shelly’s poems
Remain in your

 

Older heart and
Head, unlike him
Whom you now have
Parted from as
If he were dead.

Reviews

[just rose.]

The lyricism in this poem has almost a sewing or circular quality, if you get what I mean -- the cadence along the lines breaks beautifully on soft consonant sounds -- I get the sense, thematically, of something that is being held close, like a miniature that a renaissance woman would keep in her pocket. And even though there is hurt in the keeping close, there's still a fondness. But the fondness is contained within something else, Shelly's book, almost to legitimize it (and boy, did Shelly ever have some revolutionary notions about love, and the whole romantic-poet-who-died-tragically-young notion, brilliant). My favorite lines "Always. Scribbled/in black ink, his/Old pen had leaked" suggests someone who did not take as much care with the heart for which the words were intended as he might have. Lovely.