poetry

Lush.

photo of red roses

Her mother fans herself with her peony hat
and smiles under Magnolia shade;
the garden reception floated on
grass stained espadrilles,
polite laughter,
and endless bubbles
of white wine spritzers.

She crashed into a rose bush
like a toddling mannequin
wine glass and high heels flying
thorns snag her ill fitting dress
and mottled flesh
as she hiccups “Immmalriggght”
to the genteel crowd
lingering in the sun
with soggy canapés.

Her mother stares
beneath a wilted peony hat,
thin lips set in
burgundy and disappointment,
she leans in to her daughter
and whispers, “you’re exposed”
before she walks away
crushing rose petals
and apologies
with grass stained espadrilles.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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7 thoughts on “Lush.

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