Curated by Deirdre Kessler
Tulips (a week after)
She had put tulips on the table
serrated edges, lacy cups
a shade of red toward vermillion.
I step closer, peek into the silky petals,
the stamens inky powder smudged
mascara-after-tears into each centre.
Underneath this black dress my skin prickles
as though I might suddenly see her standing near.
How curious not one bright petal has fallen.
The window is open. A week has passed.
The green stalks weave eccentric, snakelike
as each tulip still lifts toward the missing sky.
—Yvette Doucette. In a Burst of Yellow Blossoms. Saturday Morning Chapbooks, 2014.
PEI poet laureate Deirdre Kessler selects a poem a month by an Island poet for readers of The Buzz.
