Thorning My Heart

He lives in the mirth crinkling your eyes, the rose says. I sniff in her words, invite the scent of each sound to carve itself in my bones. My blood feeds on old realities. This flower isn’t sick, my heart says, but my scars and I have trouble trusting tales told by a rose—so many layers… Sick or not, I think, no one knows what lies within, where souls and stories of living and dying bloom unseen. I know, the rose says, her petals dancing your kisses on my cheek. And I believe.

a rose spoke to me,
chanted of springs without you,
thorning my heart’s loss

the not so wee notes…
– I rarely pay attention to roses. They’ve never been my favorite flowers, but they were my little brother’s… and he has been on my mind a lot these last few days. He really liked spring weather, the color orange, and roses… So I’ve been smiling at the blossoms… and, perhaps, crying a bit.
– I was not thinking of “The Sick Rose”, by William Blake, when I wrote this poem. But “This flower isn’t sick” is so close to the line in Blake’s poem, that I felt the need to point it out.
– I hope my little brother’s soul is smelling the roses in the Summerlands (or wherever he likes).
– Linked to Open Link Night, over at the dVerse and to Sanaa’s Prompt Night (Take time out and stop to smell the Roses).

Orange Flower
(the weeping angel behind my little brother’s rose was painted by Shelle Kennedy)

93 thoughts on “Thorning My Heart”

  1. Love this.

    “Sick or not, I think, no one knows what lies within, where souls and stories of living and dying bloom unseen”

    Such a true statement

  2. Such a heartfelt tribute to your brother Magaly ❤❤
    He’s smiling down from heaven reading this 🙂

    Big hugs to you ❤❤
    Lots of love,

  3. I did think of Blake immediately, and I love how you turned it upside down for me… perfect, and what a lovely tribute to your brother… You should always have a rose with you I think…

    • I started searching for orange roses around my neighborhood. I could just buy seeds or a started plant… But for some reason, I feel this one needs to come with a story from someone else’s yard. My heart wants to tell the grower why I want it… I think that would make my little brother happy. He loved people… a lot.

  4. A lovely tribute to your brother Magaly ~ My friend’s wife died years ago, but she planted tulips in the garden. Every spring, when the tulips blossom, my friend believes and hopes that the wife’s spirit is nearby ~ I love this line: thorning my heart’s loss ~

  5. As I read your tribute, to your brother, Magaly, was reminded of the yellow tea rose that grew, by my parents’ house, in Brampton, Ontario. How every year, it would come back, despite being written off, by my dad. And how, I would nurse it, back to full bloom, much to my dad’s surprise. It’s sweet scent, is my reminder, that I can survive and thrive, in the coldest of places.

  6. Hi Magaly,
    I loved the sense of love and caring that you demonstrated in this poem. I actually love roses despite how cantankerous they can be. I inherited a black rose from my grandmother, it is very old now days but each year provides me with such beautiful blooms all smelling of rose water and turkish delight.

  7. Heartfelt hugs to you. Losing a brother is like losing a part of ourselves. There is an empty space walking beside us.
    This is a beautiful poem. I love the idea of the layers of feelings – the layer of petals.

  8. I feel exactly the same any time I come by a beautiful rose. They’re not really on my radar usually, but then suddenly there’s a wonderfully fragrant big colorful one, and I wonder why I don’t care more.

    I am still so sorry about your brother, hugs.

  9. Having lost my only brother, I found this to be especially beautiful and resonating. A thoughtful tribute. Mine liked yellow roses…..
    Here’s to roses and wonderful brothers!


  10. “I have trouble trusting tales told by a rose—so many layers”… love, love, love that line. I’m so sorry about your little brother. Roses make a wonderful remembrance link.

  11. As ever your vivid and piercing imagery brings to light both image and emotion so strongly – i imagined the pulling of petals – like ‘sick..not sick’ but still a constant love..and love always has thorns and the risk of blood – i hope your brother is resting safe in the Summerlands breathing in the sweet scent and watching over you 🌷

    • I never really thought about it, but you’re right. I do associate those who are important to me with a flower or a plant. How curious. I like it.

      Thank you for your kind words. They mean a lot coming from you, since I love your haibun.

  12. chanted of springs without you,
    thorning my heart’s loss

    How the fragrance can evoke lots of wonderful memories of a loved one. Like the ‘thorning’ word presumably ‘pricking’ in a nice sort of way. Great write Magaly!


  13. Oh, I hope he is smelling roses. For years I couldn’t stand the scent of the flower. It kept taking me back to my grandmother’s funeral when I was eight. I have two rose bushes in my garden, bright red. They blossom in spite of my lack of a green thumb. Your poem is wistful, beautiful.

    • I believe he is, smelling roses and creating wicked angelic mayhem. 😀 I bet your grandma is helping your roses along, so that that their beauty and scent bloom more cheerful memories in your mind. ♥

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