Monday, September 2, 2024

grandma's roses

the whole house smelled musty

an acquired taste for a twelve-year-old boy.

it lingered even in the flower bed 

where thin limbs wore green gloves

and she cut you with her sarcastic wit

for they were supposed to be her roses

though all i saw was something 

half dried, half barely living

as if trying to find another breath.

they belonged in between the pages

in a book with velum paper

not the memory of a wide-eyed child. 




No comments:

Post a Comment

whatever happened to excellence?

you know you're in the middle of America when the first notable sign coming into town is not the green city limits sign, but the high sc...