// creative //
Fall 2016
Twenty-two Petals to Press
Rosie Wetzel
Sometimes people do things
to keep their bones soft their ghosts
asleep and some centuries are eaten
by maggots and some by romance.
Some flowers weep between the pages
and sometimes pollen turns
to a black we call ash, someday you will notice
that there is a reason why people touch.
When this happens you will hear
the snow land loud
the eyelash-sweaty neck dialogue
barcodes behind earlobes.
You will notice lipstick on the mirror
painting graphics on your
blue attentive skin, tiles fixing grids
into your spine, inky pupils
smoking and hollow. Do not forget
that your nails are clean
and man has made it to the moon.
When the centuries are digested
and spit back up into gallant bouquets,
you will wonder why you never talk
and suddenly you will remember your
first kiss and how you accidentally
smushed a pregnant spider
into the flower press at summer camp.
to keep their bones soft their ghosts
asleep and some centuries are eaten
by maggots and some by romance.
Some flowers weep between the pages
and sometimes pollen turns
to a black we call ash, someday you will notice
that there is a reason why people touch.
When this happens you will hear
the snow land loud
the eyelash-sweaty neck dialogue
barcodes behind earlobes.
You will notice lipstick on the mirror
painting graphics on your
blue attentive skin, tiles fixing grids
into your spine, inky pupils
smoking and hollow. Do not forget
that your nails are clean
and man has made it to the moon.
When the centuries are digested
and spit back up into gallant bouquets,
you will wonder why you never talk
and suddenly you will remember your
first kiss and how you accidentally
smushed a pregnant spider
into the flower press at summer camp.
