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    dots Submission Name: Single Red Rosedots

    Author: Cyntia
    ASL Info:    31
    Elite Ratio:    5.19 - 51/57/32
    Words: 681
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 970
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3908

       Thank you for taking the time to read this poem. I appreciate all comments and would certainly love to hear the thoughts and feelings this poem evokes. Thank you!

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsSingle Red Rosedots

    Our puppy stood in the doorway wagging his little tail.
    The mailman had left his presents once again silently demanding
    my presence. In answer, I laid the dishtowel on the counter;
    a cool, crisp breeze greeting me as I turned the brass knob;
    the tip of my nose frosting as our puppy yelped and ran
    circles around my feet pushing me down the long, winding road.
    Our heart-shaped mailbox guarding the entrance Ė
    a symbol of our undying love; a maudlin gift of six years.

    My fingers rested on the silver handle intending to free the mail
    as my eyes rested on the black ribbon laying against the wooden
    post. A single red rose lay against the somber black ribbon.
    Glancing around; I realized there was no one in sight.
    Our puppy sniffed the air, tail beating fast against the pavement;
    it was almost as if you had been here. Your presence, your cologne
    engulfed my senses as if you stood before me. I fought the tears
    like so many times before, but I was happy I took this walk today.
    Happy anniversary.

    The sun rose again this morning.
    I opened the shutters to allow this luminous reflection
    to brighten the kitchen. I like standing in the kitchen overlooking
    the mailbox where the single red rose had laid just yesterday.
    Our puppy is yelping again, but he is outside playing in the snow.
    My curiosity aroused, I gingerly wander outside; snowflakes
    lightly concealing my blonde hair as Iím greeted
    by yet another single red rose
    gently covered by the lingering snow.

    My eyes moisten; the pain from this past year threatening
    to consume me, but I wash it away with the soft smell
    of the red rose. Pretending you cleverly arranged these roses,
    I lift my head thanking the sun for rising this morning
    and illuminating the snow shielding this beautiful long-stemmed red
    rose. Yes, the sun rose again this morning.

    The next three days proved to be a floristís heaven.
    It was the most precarious thing. One rose lay right outside
    my door, and the other two a few feet away. The three red
    roses now stand with the other two roses in a vase
    on the kitchen counter overlooking the heart-shaped mailbox.

    The black ribbon still lays at the foot of the wooden post.
    It was still not time to put it away.
    I imagine tomorrow will be the day.
    My heart still aches Ė demanding remembrance.
    I think I may lie down for a minute;
    exhaustion conquering my body and my soul.
    Single red roses command my subconscious
    as your essence imprisons my sanity; longing
    for just a glimpse of you as night turns into day.

    I guess it's time to put the black ribbon away.
    Our puppy confirms this by yelping excitedly as we walk
    down the long, winding driveway. I'm not as surprised
    to find another single red rose laying against the wooden post.
    The mailman has brought the mail, but the only answer
    he can provide is a look of pity as I question him
    about the roses. Again, I can feel your presence, your cologne;
    the air around me embodies every ounce of your being.
    A slight breeze across my shoulder; as if you had gently ran
    your finger across my skin. I knew it was time.

    Today, I will take that drive across the city. The drive
    to where you lay. The black ribbon and the six single red
    roses shall accompany me on this anniversary of anniversaries.
    I gently lay the black ribbon on your stone
    with the six beautiful long-stemmed red roses
    carefully arranged across your grave.

    Submitted on 2012-04-12 13:22:07     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      It looks to me as if "you" were being stalked by a rival, in this story.

    I thought that, after going through a knee-jerk reaction of projected feelings from my own deaths of loved ones, in which I was hardly reading what you wrote at all but only emoting about the topic.

    This is how most people read but I'm supposed to be an amateur poet like you, so I tried for another reading, and then noticed how the mysterious red rose donor is identifying with you just the same as you are identifying with him or her.

    I like it! Well, I always like a poem that tells me what the story is. Simpleminded. On the other hand, I'm not at all sure that I understood exactly what it is about!
    | Posted on 2012-04-12 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]

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