The Dallas Review

I Know a Rose

What I did not say the other night to you
is that somehow comparisons don’t really
ring true with out a full breath of honesty.

Now consider the rose, which we know to be
at least the most beautiful of all flowers.
and suppose that somehow we compare
the rose to the morning glory, both of
which will turn my head in an instant.
But the morning glory often doesn’t know
her own mind and grows in abundance
spreading herself thin across the ground
like strokes of a painter’s brush, so much
that she is frail and easily stepped on.

The rose stands on her own in comparison,
enticing in her velvet blush and known
to laugh out loud for the sake of men
who cannot reach her for her thorns.

I myself, tend to be shy of the danger
and am jealous of any man who claims
to hold the rose when I cannot. But
I know a rose that no longer scares me,
and I think on how to collect her
fallen petals, place them on my fingers
and take a chance on her thorns.

 

Copyright 1994 by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers.