Roses (a poem)

It may seem an odd time to be sharing a poem about flowers, but this poem I wrote this summer came to mind recently so I decided to share it. I hope you may find it interesting.


Pink, round roses in the morning’s summer sun
rival hydrangeas for ornament,
but stand unrivaled for scent.
A sweet feminine redolence,
it brings to mind mothers and girls,
grandmothers’ gardens,
antique tight buds
on china plates,
weddings, romances, the notions of love
and simple times, a reverie.

I made a plastic rose
in kindergarten,
stitched green yarn through a styrofoam platter,
glued egg carton petals on,
and perfected the illusion with a
spray of air freshener from the bathroom.

I remember years of summers and many roses,
given roses, held roses,
dried and displayed to commemorate
a cherished loved one.
Always they were given and shared in this
purpose of affirmation, the pink ones
and the reddest ones.

Summers and roses last an earnest few weeks.
When cared for and enjoyed,
their meaning and experience may endure a lifetime.

Copyright © 2017, Christian T. Kaltwasser.