THE PEACE ROSE
Molly Conway
There are two thousand members of the rose family
Just Imagine knowing the names of all the varieties of rose...
and all other flowers...
and all other plants...
My Great Aunt Mamie knew her directions in the flat country
She also knew the names of local flowers, plants, and trees
I’d ask her and ask her and forget and forget
I’m sorry Mamie, I really tried
He stood too close to me
in my Aunt Mamie’s cozy living room
looking menacing and cock-sure of himself
with the self satisfied smirk on his yellowish face
My little sister Susie was nearby
not being alert
He lurched at her, pawing
I grabbed Mamie’s meat fork
With the peeling painted handle
From her tumbled up, stuffed full utensil drawer
And thrust the curved prongs
Left handed
With all my strength
Up his nostrils
It stuck there as he feel on his back
Onto Mamie’s light green short shag rug
His balding head deeply furrow at the huge forehead
His breath coming out in a groaned grunt
As he hit the floor
The meat fork handle bounced perpendicularly
To his sand-colored fatigue-shirtband chest
With the familiar curly quean tufts of grey and white hair
Sticking out above the once white crew necked tee shirt underneath
He struggled to sit up
Sticking his too-long arms straight out in front of him
Not succeeding, his heavy head fell back with a muffled thud
Get Uncle George’s gun! I screamed
Get Uncle George’s gun!
The perfect Peace Rose is yellow, soft and smooth
With just a hint of light pink
On the tips of it’s petals
Some Peace Roses have more pink than that
But they aren’t as dainty and fragile
As the pale, lemony yellow
Half-open blossoms
With dew drops
And a scent like melted spring morning sunshine
