<dove's "the narcissus flower">
2004-04-27.7:04 p.m.
The Narcissus Flower Rita Dove I remember my foot in its frivolous slipper, a frightened bird�not the earth unzipped but the way I could see my own fingers and hear myself scream as the blossom incinerated. And though nothing could chasten the plunge, this man adamant as a knife easing into the humblest crevice, I found myself at the center of a calm so pure, it was hate. The mystery is, you can eat fear before fear eats you, you can live beyond dying-- and become a queen whom nothing surprises.
back /& forth /& frosting
names are often sad