Stargazers Lilies strain from the mouth of the vase by the window, open their throats to the sky, stretching toward the accumulation of clouds, furred stamens powdered red as starling’s blood. The shadows of the room, the scent of perfume heavy as tomorrow’s end held in stasis for seven steady days as stems collapse in secret and leaves transmute to slime. In this world of sorrow and of loss all things must fail, must come to moss and murder, must disintegrate in damp and dust. And we must open our throats, and swallow.
About the Author: Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in North American Review, Nimrod, Rattle, Slant, American Journal of Poetry, and many other journals and anthologies. She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut.
Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Fire Lily” (2022)