The Flower Garden
I - Before the fall
Midday on a Friday is loud and
the park seems to lose its serenity.
The scent of dried urine betrays a man's dominance.
Somewhere, pigeons colonise a marble seat,
spreading their culture of strewn, wet faeces.
I search for another seat.
Flowers: zinnias, sunflowers and periwinkles
sway to an anthem I neither hear nor sing.
The park staff - sitting or standing - whisper
the anthem beneath the shade of the unnamed tree.
This seat is marble and dirty and uninviting.
There's no pretence, and you must remember that.
Sit, smell a rose. Listen for the anthem.
II - Menell
A rose bush in the garden: “Come”
I resist. But the way she folds within herself,
exuding pink odours - “Come”. I go.
She asks me to sniff her, to indulge, to restrain.
A man enters the park - bold and precise.
He touches her, petals wrinkling and suddenly -
shrieks erupt from the park staff. They fall to
their knees and pull their hair out; blood follows.
The pigeons fall to the ground and begin to spew their
innards. Soon, only feathers remain.
He manoeuvres fingers into the quietest crevice,
tearing petals from stem to ground and her shame is exposed.
Satisfied, he leaves. The anthem slows to almost undiscernable
Nonsense: “I am woman. Hear me roar”
