Diane Wakoski
THE WILD ROSE (an excerpt)
The red as radishes, old fashioned
almost wild
roses
on our summer bush
are profuse and
scatter their petals
on the ground. No one picks these chubby roses
for a vase, as they don’t
last, are clustered
on short stems,
all petal and quickly shedding.
Nothing like the shapely deep budded
American Beauty Rose.
They are like old aunts whom you know once
were young women,
though from pictures you
don’t really see their youth as
looking
anything like your own.
These auntie roses are the essence
of themselves,
as my aunts were quintessential women.
I hardly noticed them with their big breasts
and sparkly earrings.
They flourished bright red,
dropped their petals, and seemed only
a part of summer.
