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Laura Donnelly: The First Month

September 9, 2022 by PBQ Leave a Comment

—March, 2020

While the paperwhites bloomed,
they prepared the morgues. 

I’d watched them since January,
at first lifting bulbs 

from their pebbled beds, checking
for roots. They reminded me 

of teeth, those first pale roots,
but the paperwhites’ 

only meal was light
and water and the work 

of transformation. The green cells
swelled towards sun. Can any 

priest perform such a sacrament?
A woman I know set up tents 

with the DMORT team,
took a plane to LA, then New York. 

And when the mouths opened,
they opened on long, narrow 

legs of spring while the world
outside remained frozen.

Their scent followed me
wherever I moved in the house, 

not beautiful but thick. Every day
I checked the numbers 

and breathed that scent. 

Filed Under: Issue 103, Poetry, Poetry 103 Tagged With: Laura Donnelly

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