A rose by any other name could be Miguel or Tiffany Could be David or Vashti Why not Aya which means beautiful flower but also verse and miracle and a bird that flies away quickly You see where this is going That is you could look at a rose and call it You See Where This Is Going or I Knew This Would Happen or even Why Wasn’t I Told I’m told of a man who does portraits for money on the beach He paints them with one arm the other he left behind in a war and so he tucks a rose into his cuff always yellow and people stare at it pinned to his shoulder while he works Call the rose Panos because I think that’s his name or call it A Chair By The Sea Point from the window to the garden and say Look a bed of Painter’s Hands And this is a good place to remember the rose already has many names because language is old and can’t agree with itself In Albania you say Trëndafil In Somalia say Kacay In American poetry it’s the flower you must never name And now you see where this is going out the window across water to a rose shaped island that can’t exist but you’re counting on to be there unmapped unmentioned till now The green place you imagine hiding when the world finds out you’re not who you’ve said
- This Page Ripped Out and Rolled into a Ball by Brendan Constantine
View all posts tagged as Poetry Friday at Bildungsroman.
View the roundup schedule at A Year of Reading.
Learn more about Poetry Friday.