What is there to say
About petals? They precede seeds,
And return every year: each happening
Contains its own undoing, brings
The next one in its wake.
The world in a perpetual
State of adolescence, everything
Not quite this anymore, but not that yet.
A petal refuses to fit into squares, cubes,
Or the cardboard boxes of the removal man.
With jasmine, for instance: no uniformity.
Not a unique celebration of white,
But a big mess: from baby greens, to bloom,
To slightly overripe, to dried up browns –
It is as if Klimt had painted a bush.
And so, while others celebrate blossoms
Newborn, I stand and contemplate
The wider circles of again, again, again.
Lorelei Bacht (she/they) is currently running out of ways to define herself while living in Asia with her family and keeping far too many fish. Her recent work has appeared and/or are forthcoming in OpenDoor Poetry, Litehouse, Visitant, Quail Bell, The Wondrous Real, Odd Magazine, Abridged, Slouching Beast Journal, The Wells Street Journal, SWWIM, and The Riverbed Review. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer