Sunday, December 16, 2012

In which I ramble on about my mother's winter flowers

on mom’s dining room table

It wasn’t an expensive bowl, a
full moon, with a crater surface
of pebbles layered with water.

The new paper white roots barely
bruised as they dug slowly to the
concave surface of the bottom.

Forced shoots poked up through
the bulb, inevitable, as light strikes
out from a lampshade at night.


Edit:

A full moon, a crater surface
of pebbles layered with water,
It wasn’t an expensive bowl.

The new paper white roots barely
bruised as they dug slowly to the
concave surface of the bottom.

Forced shoots poked up through
the bulb, inevitable, as light strikes
out from a lampshade at night.