Flowers, Always

Inexplicable, the sign outside a deli scrawled

with FLOWERS

and below that: ALWAYS.

But there were no flowers. And I have never

seen an Always. I would like to,

and I have looked.

I have kept my eye keen

for Always, have liked

its idea like an expensive purse, coveting it as

it appears,

riding the arms of rich ladies who are

so very lady. I've rolled on velvet

cushions where I heard Always slept,

and I once tried to kiss Always,

but I don't think it was the Always

I was looking for.

I like your Always, it looks

such a demanding pet. It looks like it kisses

nice and soft.

It looks like the bruise I found

flowering on my knee.

I fell down at your voice.

Not to worry, I got right back up, walked ten

more blocks

and by then I was halfway home.

I knock my knees blue

and scabbed crawling

toward you, wanting flowers,

and always, always, always

to slide against the cold vinyl of a car's seat,

your pale hands

on the bare backs of my legs,

that's one Always I want, and whoever knew

there were so many species

of Always? Your bare hands

on the pale backs

of my thighs, printing bruise,

and if you said Flowers, said Always and we

could erect a forever

of something like sheets

and breakfast and an ordinary

day, my eyes would

always slide across the table toward

you,

to warm their twin marbles in your palm,

my face would flower

for you daily, so that when we

die, roses might petal

themselves out our throats.

Copyright Credit: Cate Marvin, "Flowers, Always" from Fragment of the Head of a Queen. Copyright © 2007 by Cate Marvin. Reprinted by permission of Sarabande Books, Inc., www.sarabandebooks.org.

Source: Fragment of the Head of a Queen (Sarabande Books, 2007)