"Little Februaries"
Paperwhites
BY MICHELLE DETORIE
Little Februaries, they
unbind themselves, pages
sweetening the air.
Little petals, not fit
for grieving, ornately
frail. Petals sheer as sheets,
as raw and spare. Stems,
thin straws of green, needles
drinking the dirt —
unspooling the white
bulb into blossom. Lips
parting open their pale
veils. Green veins poured
into tiny cups of ivory air.
Green straws — green pencils —
throats through which a shallow
dark is drawn. White notes
birthed and nursed. A white song
scored — forced out — little breaths
exhaled. Sweet wreaths for rooms.
Sweet wraiths exhumed. Eyes
opening the whites
at the end of their lines.
Source: Blackbird Archive