Another Metaphor for the Heart

I water my black calla lily—

leaves like swords,

petals velvety with darkness.

A dewdrop

rests at the tip of a flower—

because gravity has nothing

on water tension.

When the sun hits this way—

like it does in August—

I say, it’s okay to thrive,

soaking the ground around her until it bleeds.

Kelsey Jordan holds an MFA in Writing from Pacific University. Read more.


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Stepping through the Gate

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Forsythia