Small-beer romance
by Molly O'Donnell
Heather translated a line of Turkish
Poetry as, “I’ve smelled a follicle
Of your hair,” which put me in mind of the
Stamen on the coffee table, lily’s
Grotesque protrusion made the living room
Reek of a funeral or of stale, strong
Perfume, Mrs. Havisham’s bed, pink crimes,
Indoor atrocities in wintertime;
The pollen is near dripping off its tip,
And so it’s obvious why I can’t help
But to think of the white elephant’s gaze.
To speak without hearing is terrible.
Because of this I know better than to
Accept that thy end is truth’s and beauty’s.
Posted by: Molly O'Donnell

Poetry (February 4th, 2008)