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  • Writer's pictureJena


photo: Raphael Brasileiro

It was purchased with the last coins

Vainly struggling against the pocket.

The flower, bent a little, drooping a little,

Was still presented ceremoniously.

The stem was waxy against

The smooth skin of the palm.

The seller had a twinkle in his eye.

"Un regalo?" He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

But the young man didn't understand Spanish.

With a polite smile, the coins gone,

He joined the flow of the human river,

Sentient rivulets pouring toward home.

The young man in the crowd, alone,

One carnation clasped in his hand.

The petals, a dark tinged burgundy,

Floating through the human sea.

Burgundy flower, cut off from nature.

Left on a darkened doorstep.

The chime of tiny bells resounding above,

Then petals caressed with a trembling hand.

Gray wisps of hair combed by the wind.

Pitch black sky.

Black old woman.

Burgundy flower, fresh, but old as love.


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