Last Words of a Rose
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTUc09EnWlziu0yI3Zn96-TwLJ4Lg8e1cJkAsSZ9zMtGZ3IhJI1gZ2sx6aGmVp6ge-ffpPuXp3KQgwvqzTJDOYuX4siKLK0YTdfMEPvVQ9EHNmHR3vBJJ8oKPmZy-uASX4ejH5n3taRwp2otlRrlvhVwckIH1M_YtmBtB2p-tChNsVtykmPPLRC-N/s320/michael-yuan-jGOBjCcT5a8-unsplash.jpg)
There was an emptiness in the air as I clung to the stem, a thorned rose who trusted scissors would never bleed me into water and glass to die on a shelf without ever tasting moonlight again. Hands smooth as my red petals hovered over my face in a butterfly pause I felt I would escape…my imperfection too obvious to an eye determined to ribbon me among snow cheeked lilies. Yet separation came in a determined cut that divided me from my sister blossoms and the root hum of mother earth. With why clipped from my tongue I became little more than a trophy, a pretty “thing” to be admired, a handmaid of ego that sought praise while calculating how long I’d survive in the vinegar of artificial rain. Intention or not, when wilting came, I was pulled through the throat of the vase. I did not succumb to the fate of a plastic shroud, but was gently lain on green grass by a small hand amongst a dandelion rosary. ©Susie Clevenger 2022 Earthweal