Subtraction Flower

 You could die for it-- 
love, 
or refuse it altogether 
and know nothing 
except the urgency 
of youth.
 Men 

have been 
solitary 
for ages 
carrying the 
stoniest of hearts 
in their broad chests 
while we women 

begin too early 
brush the brown leaves 
from our shoulders, go 
from bloom to fade 
as soon as 
we see the sunrise 

We let our eyes go first 
Then there is the limp lolling 
of our hearts from side to side 
the tongue we cut away 
the blind kiss on the backlash of night 
the giving giving giving of skin 

As women 
we blindly wish 
past the climax of passion 
as we vanish into a world of men 
whose ribcages we were scraped from 
Perhaps we are born of seeds 
our essence crawling up the stem 
to feed the bees.
 

Perhaps 
every flower you see 
is a woman 
and when 
she's in bloom 
and when she is blooming 
red 
and when her leaves are wingbeats 
of green in the autumn wind 
beating wings of green, yes 
even as the wind tries to humiliate her 
it fails because 
she's in love 
and only she would die for it 

Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2006

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