An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
To My Father's Roses
Are the less than lovelies pruned,
one by one, anymore?
Have you tasted new dirt yet?
If not, then what's stopping you
from filling the overgrown
yard with pink landing pads?
Break out of your brick bedframe,
silage sheets, mulch pillows,
and earthy mattress! Why stay
where his burrowing fingers shaped
you a uterus and grave with mud
and then filled it with seeds?
Is it a relief to let your petals down,
swill gutter water, knowing he'd growl
at your unkemptness? Do stray cats,
the ones he'd chase away, now strip
your roots while digging for rabbit
nests and remind you of how he'd grip
your twig arms, twist apart splinters,
smile when you hit the ground, and crack
open a can for another drink?
Tate Lewis recently graduated from Illinois Wesleyan University and lives in Bloomington, Illinoise. His poetry can be found in December magazine, Modern Haiku, The Loch Raven Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Better than Starbucks, The Ekphrastic Review, etc.