In which, yet again, a woman is compared to a flower

I want to write a poem

to describe the dying roses on my counter

to capture smoky brown fingerprints

on crumpled lavender petals

heads hung on once green stems

limp over a blown glass vase

leaves crunchy and curled

veins dry

It may be morbid:

this fascination with decay

and how it can be beautiful.

It reminds me of you.


It’s summertime

and I like to wear all black

and I like the way your hair sticks to your neck

when you pull weeds in the garden

and I like the way you pick a hydrangea bloom

and put it behind my ear.

Because, you say,

darkness will come back much too soon.

Originally published in Local Gems Press.

Rae Rozman is a middle school counselor in Austin, Texas. Her poetry frequently explores themes of queer love (romantic and platonic), brain injury, and education. Much of her work centers quotidian moments, examined and overexamined. New to publishing her poems, you can find a few in the Stonewall’s Legacy poetry anthology. When not sitting at her desk, Rae reads copious amounts of novels (her favorite being science fiction) and spends time with her partner and their two rescue bunnies.