Yesterday I blossomed from
a carnation-the workhorse of flowers-
plowing through dance recitals
and funerals, boutonnière after bouquet.
I have a hard time making
decisions, ascending from the stem.
My mask is my own face cleaved
in half: either path you chose,
you are always on both of them.
Beauty and truth within this poem! Nicely done!
Flowers are amazing
“My mask is my own face cleaved” is an incredible line & image.