rosamundi — a tiny poem

rosamundi what travails your soul did struggle

as if dropped petals could encompass the all or nothing

of the loves

what dried potpurri they made

the bouquets delivered

where is that poem you wrote on the worst day?

the one about that petal inside

where he stabbed you with his thorns

where he ripped your heart in two


not a one of them

wished for fatherhood

nor marriage

they saw you as a dangling ornament

nothing more

“you’ll always look like that,” says he

ready with the compliments in perpetua

the untouched scar along your vows

years ago the irish lace cap

the virginity of a meadow’s queen anne

you used to sleep with it, tucked under your pillow

the rites of fertility or passage

the motherhood you wanted

not even one of them

claimed to be a father

as you think of the pieta

perhaps reverse who held who

in such a deep lap

and where tears fall

amidst the scattered float

of tiny blossoms


rosamundi — copyright 2011 — Valentine Bonnaire — all rights reserved

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