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Dos Gardenias by Adriana Stimola

Updated: Mar 16

When you picked two

fresh gardenias, perfume

pumping, packed them

in a box to cross a continent,

kept from sun, I asked why you’d deliver

death to my doorstep. Did you expect

they’d brown-paper burst, brilliant,

singing songs of Spring?

You said you did. And never did

the story ring of anything but bruises—

of night ships and trains missed; of glasses

pink and coy but only ever worn by one—the kind

that presses lips into silent, I’m so-sorry-smiles.

I told it so I wouldn’t have to look.


 

ADRIANA STIMOLA is a non-fiction literary agent, mother and ever-aspiring poet. Her poetry has been featured in numerous publications, including: The Santa Clara Review, Beyond Words, Harbor Review, House Journal, Juke Joint and High Shelf Press.

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