02.01.11

i have above my bed a garden of roses
gathered over the years and suspended
upside down
in a 5 x 5 square.

the pragmatic may find this fussy.
the barely imaginative may find it
morbid,

death dripping down on them while they sleep.

but i do not sleep,
and i have no other place to go.
and so i lie in bed
and look up at my garden,
counting each rose as sheep
that have been delicately herded
in tissue,
pierced
and wrapped in fine gauge wire.

sometimes i try and recall the provenance of each one.
did i pick it myself?
was it from a friend?
a lover?
a stranger?

did i smile on that day?

i love my garden.
it gives me something beautiful to look at
in the middle of the night
when the air outside
is too brisk.

but if you were to ask me,
i prefer lilies.