The Secret of the Rose
by Sharmagne Leland-St.John

She looked like a "bouquet of roses" sort of woman.
Long stemmed and by the dozen, no miniatures for her
nor a single red rose purchased de-thorned
from the flower lady outside the local restaurant.

No jealous yellow roses for this woman or blushing pink
she's the darkest red you can find type of "girl"
red bordering on black, the rose Basil St. John
was always searching the Earth to find for Brenda Starr.

A girl like her would need an abundance of roses
their heady scent wafting through the rooms
of an Italian villa, a 1920s Taos adobe,
or Santa Barbara Spanish Revival with its terra nova tiled roof.

Gardens full of bushes rimming the pathways
brimming with cabbage roses and heirlooms.
a plethora of fragrant tea roses,
bowers braided with clusters of climbers.

It seems so appropriate since her mother almost named her Rose.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]