Crimson

By Sidney Garcia

I pulled and tugged at the stem
To bring this rose to you
Thorns, harsh brushes, paint my hands red
Palms torn, fingers too.

The rose will slowly fade away
As will your remembrance
Of the lovely gesture that brought you a smile,
And left my soft hands ravished.

You’ll do your best to remember
Those petals, so lovely and bright
Red, but not nearly as red
As my hands were colored that night.

Roses: fragile, detached limbs,
Fade, wither, and die
But the scars cast by defensive thorns
Shall live as long as I