Gardener at Heart - Book Two

Rose Window


The frozen juice is brought out from the household antarctic—

Plunked down on the counter—

The metal lid is polar-capped with frost—

The plastic strip stubborn, skink-tailed,

Requiring the pliers to be gotten out—

Taste—

This orange juice has been lifting weights,

Must be the only thing in the store

Not already watered down—

Orange sludge is crowbarred with a butter knife,

Dump-slumped into the pitcher—

As the water rivers from the faucet,

Orange foam beers up—

Stirred according to an old recipe

That specifies beating for so many minutes

While holding only good thoughts—

The orange bubbles assemble in the middle,

Celled together as if by bees—

Ease the big spoon out—

One full-blown rose, spinning, slowing,

Silent with inner beauty—

Still slowly rotating

As it is borne to the table

To be poured out.


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