December Rose

My roses
have become rose
hips
she said.
Solid hips that carry
and roll
smile and
enjoy that west wind.
My mystery is blunter now
I’m resistant
to frost
I make good tea
she said
full of vitamin C
and the kick of autumn.

I remember
having petals.
They dripped heavy
with the salty desire
of passers-by
flung my way
longing to dissolve
to sweet.

We roses fear laying
that burden down
not knowing
not knowing
that our petals are
just
prom dress celebrations
of a fruit
that is yet to come.

My roses,
she said,
have become
rose
hips.
And that’s
where the
sweetness is.

Creative Commons License
This work by Miriam Axel-Lute is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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