she wants beauty to take its place under rocks burrow-tight and shrink-fast but her eyes are like the wings of swallows silhouetted on dusk’s sky he can’t look away out the window weeds play at being a meadow daisies, dandelions, and clover flowers she says “must I cover myself with grass?” at gesture’s edge paspalum swords slash the silver sun she says “self” and “sanctum” he whispers “a clover flower admits bees mean well as readily as a rose” she stands to go “in your history books” she says, voice like ice’s sparkle “where have flowers had a voice?”
beauty’s argument
Published
Out of the Cave 
wonderful Worms; in that last line, I would have put ‘where’ as in ‘where have flowers ,,,’
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Thank you John! I have taken your advice on board. I can see why you would add that.
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thanks Worms; it works better now; and as a last sentence that’s really important —
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I love the ending. That the poetic voice doesn’t fit or acknowledged by history. I guess it’s not something that you can readily point to. But it’s there if you listen. The second stanza is wonderful.
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The poem itself easily folds into its own poetry (or concept?). Does that make any sense?? I know exactly what I want to say, just can’t quite find the words. I appreciate the undercurrent of tension that also suits the concept of beauty. Very lovely and intriguing poem.
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I really like “weeds play at being a meadow”. Gave me a good laugh.
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The last stanza is thought provoking.
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As a Gemini, I can understand both sides here. But that ending is a mic drop.
–Shay
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I too can see both sides. The poem is sorting out my feelings about something a friend’s daughter said. Honestly, I admire her. But I still don’t quite know that I think the same way.
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