This month, my writers group had to write an autobiography of ‘anything’. The idea being that everyday objects/ things have a story hidden in them. We then had to write a life story of one of those “things”.
This is the poem it inspired:
The bud emerges shielded in green.
Slowly layers slip down her shoulders,
Until she stands proud in all her glory.
Ripples of elegant white,
Perfumed for her her grand entrance.
A hand reaches, deft in touch,
Separating her with a single stroke.
She didn’t feel it coming.
Her sisters are nestled beside her,
As daylight is slowly smothered.
Heat and dark.
Moisture leaches from her being,
Until only a fragrant ghost remains.
Then more hands, tearing her asunder,
Placing the delicate remains in a box.
A sweaty hand, swoops her fragments,
Releasing her for one last flurry.
Her curtain call of waxy grace.