I recently visited Asheville, a wonderful little mountain town in North Carolina. There's a cool little bookstore called Malaprops where I bought a chapbook of poems by Felicia Mitchell, called "The Cleft of a Rock". I am so touched by her writing and this poem in particular, so wanted to share. Happy November 1, Cate.
How to Dry a Rose, by Felicia Mitchell
Before the life blooms out of it,
hang it upside down. In a dry place,
away from direct sunlight. But warm
and airy like autumn in Georgia
when the leaves fall red at your feet
like rose petals at a wedding
or God's tears when you die.
Use a clothespin or a wire. Strip
foilage from the flower stem, unless
you desire a leaf or two to remain
hanging on the stem, some dim green
reminder of some month or a grave.
And forget about it. Forget about the rose
among the rafters, among the boxes of books
you will never read again and the trunks
of clothes you will never fit into again
and the cobwebs clotted with ladybugs
and flies. In a month or two, it will surprise
you, this rose, when you are looking for a
suitcase or a file of canceled checks. When
you least suspect it. When the red has faded
to a more acceptable pallor and the leaves
are brittle to the touch. By then, you will
be ready to remember how your friend looked
when she lay in the casket, the rouge on her face
not much palor than the roses at the alter.
The tears in your eyes like falling leaves,
your arms like the branches of a tree in winter.
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