(no subject)

[kbk]

I remember the white roses -
once in a while - not often.
I was eight or so - no more -
when father cut them down.
Diseased, he told me later,
when I asked as a woman.
I ran past them in summer,
past the insects they attracted.
They were a bridal arch
before the shabby back gate.
I passed through it, unthinking,
every day after school,
preparing to tell mother
the highs and lows of my day.

I cupped the fallen petals in my hand
and breathed in their perfume.