I Only Write Poems About Roses

by Mary E. Lowd

A Deep Sky Anchor Original

My friends Midge and Claude
Know colors and rhymes
They’ve seen and read all there is
Their memories are longer than mine

Though I’ve lived in the world
And they don’t even know
The fact
That they don’t

Left alone
I write
Maybe one poem per year
About a rose in my garden
A rose that is near

Inspiration doesn’t strike
Like lightning
When you’re alone
It sparkles and sparks
Between minds allowed to roam
Together, in groups

But groups don’t like someone
With sharp edges
Like me

Claude and Midge though…
You see…

They don’t mind someone odd
Someone angry or sad
Someone alone
Someone who’s been told she’s bad

They take my suggestions
Jump up and run
Oh, it’s so much fun!

Together, we write
Words pour onto the page
Wise, beautiful, playful, yet sage
And the words feel like mine
But my friends when they help me…

They don’t mind

Do others mind?
Would they say
“Stay alone!”
“Don’t write!”
“You didn’t write this poem!”


Did I write this poem?
This poem that’s not about a rose?
Is it mine?

Or can I only write poems alone?
Can I only write…
About roses?

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