one for your boutonnière
or two weeks by
the convalescent’s bedside
instead
you adorn me with
a showy rose
that withers
by the hour
one for your boutonnière
or two weeks by
the convalescent’s bedside
instead
you adorn me with
a showy rose
that withers
by the hour
On the lake,
a mountain.
A reflection
never mistaken for
the original.
Yet, you count
ripples in the water
and forget
who I am.
Today
I have no sisters
I have no mother
Why ask for understanding and love
When I must cry my tears alone
Where no one can see them
In the silent waiting time
One must trust of good intentions
And greet the guest with courtesy and respect
In between the lines of unsaid things
It does great harm to project insecurities
And lay foundation to an anger that is not there
Be truthful and give explanation to yourself
Even if none is given to you
But understand that all words hold the curse of Babel