By: Jacquelyn Shah
Without fanfare hoopla handshakes
without publication or proclamation
benefit of billboards
without the expectation of applause or awe
without a murmur
the mind stars
in its quiet little
Dull drum of come on come on now
and utter disregard
for the head’s credits
Behind a heavy black curtain
the starstruck brain
upstages its co-star
to an empty auditorium
Like the Amaryllis
Overwrought, that scarlet cobra-bent head
fit for funerals where screams resound.
A laser redness rending skin, a pull to bell
impaled by color. Blistering, bleeding
sink into petals as the rain comes
murmuring, curling as a tendril.
Myriad scents, no words, no thoughts
just hum, rustling, wings and rain.
Spirit-light crescendos to a sob.
Then stiffening, a winter vine, dried
sediment. And silence. Borne to bell again
from pollen, somehow seed, somehow bud.
Rise from solemn cells, then cluster to
new force, straight to scarlet. Then the head
begins to bend again.