A poem by Ajax Minor

I had plucked the peony’s fluorescence

From the Anniversary Flowers I’d bought.

Fat and full, little closed fists keeping

Their promise hidden.


I dropped the white blossoms on a spare mahogany table

Where we took our still, cool meals.

I grabbed the green stems. But they burned my



The elevator cables rattled.

She walked in from the rain

Her hair black, wet, weeping snakes.

The peonies plucked her eyes out.


She stuffed one in each windy socket

And put the rest in the pocket of her sweater.

My mouth, whispering, filled with sand.

A year of beaches poured from my lips.


She slid under the door.

I heard the elevator cables rattle

Like buttons tossed in a brass bowl.

Poor alms.


© Paul Sinsar 2015