Poem: Turning

"When I woke up you were next to me.
Heart and bones . . ." The Pines


each day for those weeks
I turned the amaryllis,
the copper pot scraping--
one long note through
a wet reed, off key

the stalk knows
not to twist and
how to seek and
still grows slanted
but all eyes are on
the bright red florid
mouth of everything

it all would hurt less
if I would speak less

I would speak less if
the silence didn't
set my skin on fire,
burn me down to
ashen bone

petals stretch in
relative silence,
open green,
reveal red,
dare you to
look away,
then wither
under your gaze