Orchids (poem)

Orchids (for Lille)

It’s lovely how the orchids lean
into each other over the balcony.
Purple locks beckon strangers
to stop and admire their Saturday song,
petals coy like feathers floating
along the streets of Flanders.

The morning is alive in the air, marvelous
dancing on your breath like thoughts
of first snow in October, a time when
scarves checkered with solitude
come too soon to say “goodbye.”

A motorcycle bright as cherry lips
tilts into the gutter, expecting to disappear
from the monochromic winter – its engine
a beautiful snapshot months later
of how you felt those hands holding you,
holding orchids crushed against the heart,
begging to stay until the season got better
and you recovered from the thought
of leaving once again, before the purple
returned to your eyes, gazing high above
the balcony window.

— The Finicky Cynic

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