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The Fall of Rose<br />
MERCEDES LAWRY<br />
Rose fell apart last night<br />
while I slept. Petals dropped<br />
in clumps, I expect, not singly.<br />
Rose was done, fed up,<br />
tired of having me admire her pretty face<br />
while stuck in a canning jar<br />
on the table of disarray, which<br />
might have been interesting if Rose<br />
was a reading sort of flower.<br />
Not to mention ideal TV viewing.<br />
I admit Rose has the right<br />
to call it quits, and perhaps preferred<br />
to shed her glory without my eyes<br />
widening in dismay, as if I’d loved her,<br />
truly loved her, which I did.<br />
I think so, I tried at least. Oh,<br />
Rose, I’m not ready to part, your petals<br />
still here, in the small blue bowl,<br />
pink and blushing. Do not fear.<br />
I won’t banish you to potpourri,<br />
but rather sift you with coffee grounds,<br />
spent bluebells, and shards of eggshell,<br />
to return to the earth and feed another rose<br />
I may not love so wildly, though roses<br />
can be so beguiling.<br />
-17-
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