I forgot I wanted to make memories, not simply press petals between pages of expendable books…. I forgot a plea to be buried under a canopy of red roses…. I forgot there was no need to apologize for dancing from one’s hips roundly, eyes closed, taking up as much space as one wanted on the dance floor of someone else’s wedding…. I forgot Pygmalion sculpted himself into an embrace, and used stone in hopes the hold would never break…. I forgot the votive candle flickering within my navel…. I forgot the practicality of water…. I forgot whispering to a daughter borne from rape, “Regret is not your legacy”…. I forgot violets vomiting rue…. I forgot betraying the butler with mother-of-pearl cufflinks…. I forgot the storm that shamed the nasturtiums I’d watered all summer with dishwater…. I forgot wrestling a long poem until I had gathered all thorns into my cupped palms for birthing psalms. I saw a stranger’s blood mixed with rose petals to birth generous perfume.
I'm also blessed that my poems are in absolutely FABULOUS COMPANY! You are invited to read, stay for a while ... The issue begins with a lovely visual, "man, bicycle, sign," by Andrew Topel:
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