Les Roses de Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

J'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;
Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée . . .
Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir

The Roses of Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

I wanted to bring you roses this morning;
But I had closed so many in my sash
That the knots were too tight to contain
them.

The knots split.
The roses blew away.
All blew off to the sea,
borne by the wind,
Carried to the water, never to return.

The waves looked red as if inflamed.
Tonight, my dress is still perfumed.
Breathe in the fragrant memory.









Eau de parfum: mémoire en bouteille
by Grace Haak

The remembrance reverberates.

I see a silk sash stuffed with splendor
Trinkets collected from a local vendor
Knots ******* as if a form of art
Thorns pressed up against my heart
But for you, I’d pierce my soul.

The recollection resonates.

I feel wind entangle my hair in twists
Matted and messy from soft sea mist
Dripping and damp from a walk too far
Only thought is getting to where you are
But for you, I’d run forever.

The reminiscence resounds.

I smell a sweet scent of rose
The kind that always tickles my nose
Stuck in an overpowering haze
A sickly aroma drags me into a daze
But for you, I’d plant a garden.

Sometimes, when I forget to forget you
I leave the sea with crushed petals
and stained hands.
The blood on my hands
is yours.

I’ll wither and wilt,
wondering why
you left all your flowers
when you said goodbye.

When I knock back my own perfume,
the roses re-echo
he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not

Poor girl. He doesn’t even give you a thought.

I knew it was bad when my fingernails were ringed
with red
as I ran them over ribbons and excused myself
from confetti cake to make them
redder.

my head was burning
a sparkling candle burning
my hands were yearning
a spazzing sticking yearning

my family was singing
a muffled stifling singing
my ears were ringing
a loud ear-piercing ringing

sing
ring
sting
stop stop stop my scalp is stinging

Nothing was clear until my fingernails
were red
and coated with pieces of my head:
rubbed raw and picked clean
You’re telling me
this is something you haven’t seen?

It doesn’t make sense because:
I don’t put pencils in a perfect pristine line
I don’t count my cheerios before I can dine
I can turn the lights on and off just fine
but my fingernails
are red
and apparently that’s a sign.


I can tell you where
every single pinprick lives
and spreads fire down my scalp
into my brain
How it tells me
your math homework can wait
save me
or you’ll go insane

My nails are short
but still red
My brain is intact
but still missing its head

Oh, how I could See the Disorder in a
demented disturbed decision
to forfeit my favorite vanilla cake
for blood

stop stop stop, i’m begging you, brain

you can’t stop; you know you need pain
leave me alone, and you’ll go insane.

I have never seen a specter so graceful
yet so distortedly horrible
it’s like looking into silver
and seeing
shadow
where you should smile at
ruby lips and crystalline eyes

instead you watch skin melt
like a box of crayons in hell
are we not in hell
I see a ghost everyday

I see her glide down
and shimmer in the rain
she looks like madness
like straight sin stuck in spirit
encased in gilded goblets
just don’t scratch the surface
or you’ll be disappointed

they want to hold her until
it comes to walking home
she knows she will drift
down wet sidewalks alone
no one can see her anyway
apparitions are hallucinations

I would like to paint my vision
but alas, I only have graphite
so I’ll describe her in light:
there is something so beautifully sinister about chandeliers

everyone wants to swing on glass crystals
until
they
shatter
and all of a sudden you cry
phantom

It all seems so business
so pleasantly polite...so black-hides-the-blue..so completely unlike you.
I close my eyes and think of it often
the alternate to the unsmiling coffin
You don’t want a poem about how great you are
You want everyone singing Green Day, with Joe on guitar
You don’t want flowers falling without a sound
You want shotgunned cans of Hamm’s thrown on the ground
You don’t want scratchy collars and palms all sweaty
You want retro Nikes and confessions of confetti
You don’t want hiccups and heartache
You want plastic forks and a Costco cake.

But instead
I’m left with red-hot
blurry stinging
Perfect gray
Sad sky ringing
A gaping hole in the dug-up dirt
Filled with mounds of rock-hard hurt.
They see a nice young man
in a green striped tie
Gone too soon,
who knows why
It’s tragic
but their world keeps turning
They sympathize
but their eyes stop burning.

They don’t see a little brother open the doors
of your Jack and Jill
because his Jack has gone and left a chill.
So he can fall asleep,
he turns on the bedside light,
pretends you’re up reading
and everything is right.
You and World War II guns
always late into the night.

I never thought my hands would look nice held in ones of polish, chipped and black
In fact, it goes against my own advice, but once I’ve crossed, I can’t go back.
I never thought I’d want dark and twisty like the licorice in your pocket
Because Nicholas Sparks makes my eyes misty, and your eyes roll hard in their sockets.
You’re hopeless, and I’m a romantic, soft and gooey like caramel chew
My touch isn’t rushed, and yours is frantic; a bit unsettling, but still so new.
My mom would hate your earring’s dangle, my dad might mutter, “sick *******”
But I like your silver chains’ jangle, and I’m simply sick of citrus suckers.
You’re sharper than shards of icicle glass, joking about my love for the sky man
Everyone says this feeling will pass, but I’m not quite sure it can.
What started as an inky smear has become a staining smudge
And where my eyes hold doubt and fear, yours have edge and grudge.
But when you look at me they crack like your lips into a smile
You spit a halfhearted comeback, and I let myself melt in your guile.
And you let me wear your rings, slipping from my pointer and thumb
You let me sing of saccharine things, laughing while you call me dumb.
What caught your eye was the sparkle on mine, blue hidden by gold glitter
What made you stay wasn’t how they shine, but how my words could match your bitter.
You don’t know what boat shoes are; I don't know how to line my eyes
You don’t know how this got so far; I don’t know why I went counterclockwise.
But now that I’ve had a new flavor, I’ll add you to my list
I think this is one I’ll savor; it’s like sugar, but with a twist.

To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.

Standing in the supermarket line
Pacing up and down the aisle
Colored boxes collecting in your cart
As you struggle to select
And then you choose me.
Who can blame you?
I tempt you with my tanginess
I ****** you with my sparkles
I beguile you with glitter
I fascinate you with fizz
For I know how to appeal
To those who are captivated by stars.
But be weary;
Effervescence is ephemeral
And stars disappear in daytime
My bubbly bliss ending
In a bittersweet goodbye
Nothing good lasts for long
The magic always momentary
And as quickly as I am everything
I become nothing to you
But a shiny shell of aluminum
Better suited in a blue bin
Thanks for the memories
I hope you taste lime when
You see me.