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)