The White Flower

(It is a long time since I have posted here! The theme for this week was “skeletons” . . . )

The White Flower

In the end

she is a white bloom, protruding

from a white fissure;

there is something stark about

lime and bones.

In the end

she is sepals on a stem, the sap

un-remembered; petals

mourned by the starlight

once and forever.

In the end

she is a Woman

who dreamed, perhaps, of her children’s children

growing to blossom; seeds and roots

softening the same stone.

In the end

she is a white bloom plucked from a limestone fissure

and there is nothing dark about her bones.

 

(In memory of “Blodwen”, who lived in the vicinity of the Little Orme, c.3,565-3,510BC, and looked a little like me)

 

 

 

 

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