White Flowers

I have grown quite tired of white
Flowers: always celebrated in mourning,
Or in weddings. I am in need of color,
A spell of bright swirling sparkling
To brighten up the gloomy world.
What there is of Fall
Is beautiful while it lasts—
The colors are sparks against the low gray clouds
Until they fall and leave us gaps up to them.
The winter, too, sparkles—
And though white, still it covers
A great host of colors and histories:
Choleric babies and warm fireplaces and fallen leaves turned into some dirt.
But these white flowers cover not.
These white flowers are funeral dirges
Or songs of great white mirth.
I grow quite tired of breaks in color
For a solemn affair.
I want for one wash of color, unbroken.

26 November 2007

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