the name of this rose

by Elizabeth de Barros

Rose 1

I.

Call me Fullness

unfolding

after the last petal got crushed

these wilted hands

poured forth oil

into the night

against birds of prey

close by

overhead

nipping at my toes

while I was pleading

smoke arose:

“…I make whole the broken soul.”

Rose 2

II.

Obscurity,

perplexity’s anthology

a coda in a symphony

the exile’s proclivity

in faith abiding

enclosed

shaped by the will of the Father

cupped by the hands of Another

consumed

apposed

undone

bowed low

Rose 4

III. 

Softness

does not skimp

on strength

made perfect in weakness

where rationale takes a seat

behind honor

“…here’s a towel for your feet…”

— the kind of love that looks after things.

 (Great is the stature of Abel’s portion, it does not measure; I tend to compare)

Patience too is an offering.

How else does a thorny crown

become a headdress

of silken tassels

and linen velvet?

Cain’s temptation gives way

to joy and gladness

at the table of washing

away the mudstains

where I confess

in deference to the rest

these, my welcome guests

— holiness, truth, justice,

and let it be said,

 not my own righteousness —

if such hope be offensive

this high praise scandalous

Apropos is the name of this rose

Apropos is the name of this rose.

_____________

©2014 Elizabeth DeBarros 

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