Rose

 

Rose buried her voice

in their garden,

it was after midnight.

 

she shoveled out a shallow grave

placed the mess inside

patted the dirt with the back of her hand

felt her way to a flat piece of earth

somewhere to mourn in silence

(all she had now).

 

the moon went up, she drifted

somewhere over

waves of breath she heard him,

remembered the way his chest

would vibrate with every important word

she never focused on,

only felt with fingertips.

 

Rose was a child for

all twenty six years

so eager

in her mother’s high heels

she slipped thin limbs

around his waist

she hung limp like

an eager girl.

 

masquerading as a woman

had left her with a man that

let his arms fall like a dying avalanche

from her hips,

the worst of this life,

a fading love.

 

in one last

flailing attempt

she threw on her black boots

took her insecurities from the

kitchen drawer and

trekked to the garden

(tiptoed past the gardenias).

 

she kneeled in the soil, Rose

and admitted

for the first time

that she was beautiful

roughly, pathetically, beautiful.

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15 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

15 responses to “Rose

  1. Ouch. Right in the heart. This was so strong, so powerful. Thank you so much for joining in this week.

  2. Wow! This is really good. Makes me want to know more about her.

  3. Love! I’m a sucker for garden/romance/tragedy. So ironic, I took my journals and wrote outside by the compost bin tonight. Unfortunately, it was all trash…kinda like the mess I’d just put in the bin 🙂
    You have mad talent, lady!

  4. I almost forgot to tell you! I told my hubby about you tonight while we were cooking dinner. In true “man of few words” manner he said, “She sounds cool”
    And you are!!

  5. Definitely haunting and tragic. I love how you used “rose”. Well-done, Nicole.

  6. Pingback: Long Trip Alone (Life is a Highway Vol. 6) | MamaMick

  7. Pingback: Feature Friday: Words and Other Things | Stuphblog

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