Our eyes do not shine

with judgement like theirs,

our small, pinpricks of coloured light,

peaches, purples, reds and pinks,

but we watch you as we drink,

sip from the vase usually kept

beneath the sink.

We seek the sun but find ourselves

resting upon your weary face,

distant in the netherworlds of a mind

man is hesitant to admit to

being its creator. Distant 

in its sadness which only you do not see

as a sadness worth living for.

 

Did you know at midnight you smile? 

In dreams of insomnia you sleep,

peacefully as if already 

six feet under with flowers

adorning a granite chest

rather than your bedside, unlit

as the curtains remain drawn

and our mouths wilt in hunger

for unripe watermelons and sour apricots,

for anything into which

we can sink our teeth,

because our fronds grow limp,

our heads fall into your clammy lap

and we wish our life was sweeter

than the death you desire to enfold 

within your moon waning arms.

 

---

 

A response to Sylvia Plath’s poem, Tulips.

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

My poetry collections:

Flowers on the Wall UK

Flowers on the Wall US

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

https://linktr.ee/KristianaReed