deeply rooted memories

By Kilhah St Fort

zoom in.
strawberry petals
 branching off of a
willowy stem,
 stripped of her natural defenses;
disconnected from her roots. 
holding her breath underwater, but
half free to gulp in air.
tiptoeing the lines of asphyxiation and liberation.
beauty drowns out her screams.

zoom out.
porcelain vases flank her,
celebratory of daily wins
(silent in times of woe)
together basking in the celestial bodies’ affections,
preening under human wonder,
stowing the finite praise
 away to
 dissect in their minds until gasping sobs
become the symphony of their nights.
 
zoom in.
strawberry darkens crimson, crimson darkens black.
shriveled brittle tips.
hunched over into herself;
 shielded from cold indifference.
a petal falls off.
then two.
then three.
 what is she worth now?
 
zoom out.
crowded in by dark plastic walls
and foul odor,
she was moved.
rejected, forgotten, expendable. 
a younger, newer plaything
 holds her spot between the vases.
day by day, night by night
a fresh rose is plucked, put on display and thrown away.
each one’s story is told
 to their admirers,
mixed together in a facade of being the same.
but before the replacement
a whisper is exchanged:
 
“fret not little one,
for the thorns, the patience and the love
of our ancestors flow through your stem.
you will not be forgotten.”
 
zoom in.
The rose is tall, sturdy and glossy
against the gazes.
tales of her predecessors' fear and courage keeps her standing
and when it’s her time to go
she does not wilt, she is not broken.
she is tired but standing.
she passes the stories of their past to the next
and whispers make them proud.