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Pale pink petals dipped in blood
surround my yellow crown
  and painstakingly painted stigmata.
A  fragile, fragrant DNA poem
  perfectly expressed.
An immaculate lily – not a failed rose.
On a recent Ignatian retreat I saw a Peruvian lily (Alstroemeria) and it made me think about what I am rather than what people would like me to be. The photo is my own and is of the lily that inspired this poem.
The fly,
drawn by its addiction
to sweetness,
enters the pitcher plant.
Tired and drugged,
slipping on downward
pointing hairs
it falls into
the digestive juices
that dissolve its goodness
leaving only
its hard
chitin
skeleton.

— The End —