Baby Pink Roses
the aroma of remote times
tiny pink roses climb deformed
I'm acquainted enough with death
not to fall apart when roses die
tiny pink roses climb deformed
into Mom and Dad's bedroom window
Mom and Dad fall apart when they see roses
and the dog is wicked because Mom said so
shouted in her bedroom window
I can't play make believe right or sleep right
and the dog is wicked too because Mom said so
and they say I'm the crazy one
I can't walk right or smile right
not the corrosive blood of Jesus, not desperate prayers
can save me from the crazy ones
no escape unless you live long enough to grow up
from sudden blood and empty prayers
I am too acquainted with death
and growing up has not helped me escape
from the aroma of remote times
A Penny
When you're broken like me
you can't hear the meadowlarks sparkle
or feel the poppies glow
I can't stop the dogs
that drink blood from my wrists
I dreamed I had a penny
to exchange for life or death
and I didn't know which to buy
I dreamed I wore a golden veil
When I came to the temple
my head was already there
outside on a stake
the aroma of remote times
tiny pink roses climb deformed
I'm acquainted enough with death
not to fall apart when roses die
tiny pink roses climb deformed
into Mom and Dad's bedroom window
Mom and Dad fall apart when they see roses
and the dog is wicked because Mom said so
shouted in her bedroom window
I can't play make believe right or sleep right
and the dog is wicked too because Mom said so
and they say I'm the crazy one
I can't walk right or smile right
not the corrosive blood of Jesus, not desperate prayers
can save me from the crazy ones
no escape unless you live long enough to grow up
from sudden blood and empty prayers
I am too acquainted with death
and growing up has not helped me escape
from the aroma of remote times
A Penny
When you're broken like me
you can't hear the meadowlarks sparkle
or feel the poppies glow
I can't stop the dogs
that drink blood from my wrists
I dreamed I had a penny
to exchange for life or death
and I didn't know which to buy
I dreamed I wore a golden veil
When I came to the temple
my head was already there
outside on a stake
Brian Jerrold Koester is a Pushcart Prize
nominee and a Best of the Net Anthology nominee.
His collection is titled What Keeps Me
Awake (Silver Bow
Publishing) and his chapbook is called Bossa Nova (River Glass Books). His
work has appeared in Agni, Streetlight Magazine, Delmarva Review, Right
Hand Pointing, Louisiana Literature, and elsewhere. He lives in Lexington, Massachusetts and has been a freelance
cellist.
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