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Potpourri
Bethany Bowman (bio)
Lamb’s ear, rose-hip, orange peel, cinnamon.
Orris root to preserve, essential oil just in case;
we want these dead flowers to last.
Why not extend the life of the rotten pot?
Make it sing with archangels forever and ever?
Give me a fixative when I die
so my essence releases slowly.
Let me dry well, morph into the farrago.
Maybe then, I’ll become more palatable—
preferably with wings, a good voice.
But if not, if someone forgets to add
spices and mold sets in with its filaments:
a break down colorful as sunrise.

 

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