It was as healing
as a mother’s palm
across a flushed forehead
and yet seductive in its truth,
This admonition straight from Aphrodite,
foamed and tickled at my ears
like the sea meringue that was her birth,
her message roaring from the conch,
like the goddess that she is,
gleaming like the planet that is hers.
Her words were, “Trust the roses,”
they will tell you all you need to know,
that beauty is the best that you can grow,
that blooming is the best that you can do.
Understand, she said, the prick,
the drops of blood will only make
you clearer, surer of the scent you seek,
only wake you up
to the colors that are calling.
Follow me across the evening sky
and you will find I’m always
blessing any garden you are seeding,
loving you for what you cultivate,
assisting you in all that
you are needing and creating,
leaving roses everywhere I’ve been,
birthing, budding your designs,
breathing what you crave
into every poignant petal,
every lithe and leading stem.