New Poem: Lilacs

When I don’t sleep I think. Too much. And too much about certain things. But it’s ok. I don’t mind. The craft of this poem really die out towards the end (no pun intended).




I remember the garden

Asphyxiated in your cheeks,

The infolded red, still half-green,

Half sick, a rose, but not yet,

Opening on your hibernating face

With cold veins,

Thinly stretched beneath the petal

Smooth bones tightening beneath your chin.


I remember the lilacs

Of slowed breathing,

The throat not yet coked

Violet like lupines. That came later

When the shivered veins

Now grown hot with fever

And certain dread, filled

Your forehead, looked

Less like the flowers we planted

When I was a kid

Watching you mud plunge

Past your hands, in your blue jeans,

Always on your knees

And now instead

You look to me

Like you are drowning.


And yet I remember whether

Our Saturdays were dry or wet

We still gardened anyway.

Finally, when they loose you from your bed,

Unrooted from the earth

And still hugging clods of dirt

You are pulled up

No longer lilac or lupine

But lily flushed to be brought

To some other garden plot.


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