The theme over at Poetry Thursday this week: Time.
What follows is more a fragment than anything.
When we bury my grandfather
the cemetery’s silk flowers sing
like huddled children, half-frozen.
They chatter. Our shoes, rimed
with street-salt, unintentionally,
mournfully, crush winter's invisible roses.
*I believe the notion of "invisible roses" came from a poem by Michael Palmer.
1 comment:
Well, I don't feel like this is a fragment at all. Not sure what else it would need to make it complete - seems to be all there to me. Such lovely imagery, every word just as it should be. The singing silk flowers, then crushing the roses... really very lovely.
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