Rose Bushes
By Jasmine D. Lowe, Writers of Kern
The deep brilliant reds bleed through
the thick dark green leaves of your miniature trees.
These tall rose bushes stand firmly
as they drink just enough water to remain in full bloom.
You tell your children to prune back the lush bushes
that sit proudly in front of the yard.
And carefully watch the swirling patterns
of the local insects allowing only visits from the bees.
The elegant petals would occasionally fall
past the sharp thick points on the thorn,
and would either be raked up by playing children
or collected by you for potpourri.
I remember how I used to draw your birthday cards
with a large rose in full bloom on top.
And how I thought of you while walking past the roses
that stood there before I was born.
Over time I watched the roses as they dried
and looked on while most of the bushes were removed.
I no longer found you bending over in your garden
to rake rose petals or dig up weeds.
I watched on as the roses in the rose bed
were slowly replaced with other decorative things,
and waited patiently for several years now for the
growing cycle of the roses to be renewed.
This poem originally appeared in the November 2018
Writers of Kern newsletter.
Find more about Jasmine Lowe
at JasmineDLowe.com.