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5-7-5s from hospital room 17
May 18, 2014
A rose is crushed by
the same dark hands that folded
paper cranes and shared
hot mugs of tea with
me in hospital chambers
the year I got ill.
A rose is crushed near
the isolated corner
of a county park.
A crow dips his beak
in a pond there, slick green film
rising over the
cup of a floating
leaf. You are still, holding the
rose over the bank
of an echoing
memory-song. We used to
play here way back when,
but you usually
come alone now to pick the
petals off an oh-
so innocent thing.
It should have been saved. Of all
people, you should know.
© Amy S., Roslindale, MA
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