The Petal Writers

Sharing the towering

piece of land, they live in

homes with rooftop balconies

where women wait for their

hearts to be freed. One is

fenced in, one has dusty

old shutters, and one across

the way has a well-swept

screened-in porch. Windows are

decorated with laced

curtains that cannot

interrupt the sunny

day. Rooms are loyal to

light-colored cotton, and

time still rests on a lonely

bookcase, waiting for a

sleepless night. Ladderback

chairs and homemade candles;

the friendship quilt hand-sewn

for strength; the carved apple

on the desk; and the shadows

of hands where they

continuously write

as they thoughtfully weave

their words into

comfortable rows.

Untamed beauty of fragrant

leaves; wrapping themselves along

the walkways where those who

wait anxiously stroll, patiently

listen, and they move so

quietly to share peaceful

silence. Where misty water

is gracefully showered by

salty sea breezes that gently

embrace undraped skin, and

they begin to carry

their verse, retreating to

their rooms, hoping to maintain

seclusion. And, for a while,

they are a part of the

rocks hidden below being

washed by alternating

waves and careful pauses. Catching

reflections of seagulls

swimming through gravel roads.

Running to the grounds beyond

the clover, where there are

no fences or freedom

from self, only forms of petals

and passions constantly

stirring.