Maria Masington, two poems


Destiny of the Modern-Day Gladiola

I kneel in my garden.

Once boasting upright,

tight-fisted buds,

now a carpet of

leaning green stalks

that crush perennial curls

of citrine, vermillion, peach.

Thru generations of crossbreeding

and cultivation, hybrid flowers,

now more robust and abundant,

quickly bend to the earth.

Beautiful ruffled blossoms

too cumbersome for

long, slender stems.

I am told God never gives us

more than we can handle,

and want to believe

that no matter the circumstances,

I will bloom once more.

But as each flower opens,

the mass of a broken heart

pulls me down.

My body in the dirt.

My shriveled petals

pinned to the ground.

Radish Roses

My grandmother taught me,

insert knife in middle and