The buds are green and wrinkled fists
that open like a foetus's,
enchanting the unwary eye,
enticing every secret sense;
white petals - muslin wedding skirts,
smudged with mauve and lilac stains
as if the brides had eaten mulberries
and blotted dainty hands.
Massed in fields on tall, stiff stems
they weave in labyrinthine waves,
young girls on their wedding days
who first advance, then shrink away.
Their petals shed, seed pods grow plump
as gourds or drums in velvet skin;
the wind sways the inverted bells
encasing love letters from hell.
Love letters from hell
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108031601205
Свидетельство о публикации №108031601205
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