A Garden in the Mirror
A Garden in the Mirror
Chestnut roses pruned and coiffed
silver, almost translucent,
frail and fighting with the flavor
of metal stinging the air
creeping towards varnished sun
lighter than vanity
heavier than the aroma of ink
you’re right to think this poem
is about you
classically regal, stately
you mock the rest of the flower bed
tenacity is your tenor
I’ll clip you at the root, be responsible
for erasing your signature
insomuch as you can erase a tattoo
that has gone needle deep