Poem #1

A Full Bed of Roses

The needle carouses

through strip upon strip of cloth,

spins out a dizzying

merry-go-round of roses.

 

Skew-centred around sun-yellow

every bloom unbuds

of its own sweet volition,

each one, new sprung, calls

 

for another – my Bernina purrs on

to stitch candy floss pink

or apricots and oranges

in a circle dance of fun.

 

Reds spell the wounds

and throb of womanhood,

rich burgundies

mute the prettiness.

 

Waxed youth on the wane,

I turn out rose after rose,

find there are forty-eight,

stop, and see the spell break.

Mariss Everitt