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.
© Paul Sinsar 2015