The Only Rose There Is
Not
what were roses like
when you could touch
them, Great-Great-Great-
Great-Great-Great-Great-
Grandmother,
but
the week-in-the-vase
rose on the table now,
heavy-headed, a girl
with a bonnet for a face
sewn to a blanket.
Showing posts with label The Only Rose There Is. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Only Rose There Is. Show all posts
Monday, January 23, 2012
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