July 15

Poetry | Michael Quattrone

Beams of sunset, petals wet with light

when I heard the news I had weighted

myself against all day:

what to do with my body now but keep it

still, poised in a ceramic vessel,

a pair of tenuous shoots, orchids

before me, sun falling on the right,

the bright shadow left on the wall;

see it hover, flicker, gently rise

while I breathe out and in.

Thirteen orchid blossoms on two stems,

speckled magenta in their second year.

To think I nearly let them go.