Roses

Roses
she returns every year to my gardens
personable on her surface as she grows
Faithful
where the perrenials fall and sever with each winter
she is in the back of my mind
Quiet
there are so many thorns that I remember
she does not mean to cut me
Memory
I pull back my fingertips and recall the pain
there is so much about those petals
Redness
blurry eyes as the petals melt in hot waters
her memories are melting
my memories are thorns
I pull away
Roses

by Kiona Pearson

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