Night shed its woolen sleeve
In grey twilight the rose appears
Petals pale and pink unfold toward my hand
The wooden table washed clean
Hides my initials, carved decades past on its underbelly
Our secret, though I suspect the rose knows
Clocks chime
Light strikes papered walls
Ivy trellises on yellow trees
Pablum spots, long swept away
Still dot the floor in the childhood kitchen of my mind
But grandmother’s rose still smells as sweet
And I bask forever in her love.

DKL/9/30/13