A Blue Glass Bottle

On an old school desk in a thrift store

sits a dark blue glass bottle.

Its neck is slender like a woman's and its body is gently rounded.

The blue is so deep you can hardly see through the glass.

Standing out of the bottle is a single scarlet rose.

The petals look like they were painted with blood.

As a child I reached out my hand to touch the rose.

A thorn tore the skin on my pudgy finger and drew blood the same color as the flower.

I wiped crimson beads on the petals since no one would see any difference.

As an adult I have revisited that thrift shop. 

The blue bottle with the blood rose still stands on the antique school desk.

I can't help but wonder if it's the same rose, staying alive all these years by the blood of pricked fingers.

Reviews

[Dr. Wood ?]

well this is the best I've seen in a long time..you keep this up ...Oh oh...sound like a teacher.....Great poem that should get loads of glowing reviews...I see you like Tom Waits...maybe that explains it...good stuff

[annie_novak]

Thank you for the compliments. And yes, Tom Waits is an all time favorite musician, writer, and unique person in general.

[Dr. Wood ?]

hear hear