Confiteor 1

Poem by Teresa Sutton


[I confess]

That tears from Dad’s crying
spells could fill cups
of croci.
No one craves the sight of
a flower after
it scatters its seeds
and droops.
On this key point,
science is silent.
No one itches
to imagine a blossom
as it withers.

[I have greatly sinned]

As a habit I slice rose stems,
make them shorter daily
to add time to their natural lives — 
I spritz their petals
with hairspray,
a trick to preserve
their good looks longer — 
I add an aspirin
to nourish them
in their final days
though brown stems
cannot drink.

TERESA SUTTON won first place in the 2017 Encircle Poetry Chapbook Competition with her third poetry chapbook, Breaking Newton’s Laws, including Pushcart Prize nomineeDementia and second place winner of the 2018 Luminaire Award for Best Poetry “Confiteor 2.” She has two other poetry chapbooks: They’re Gone and Ossory Wolves. (tsuttonpoetry.com)