Last Words of a Rose
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