Christmas roses bloom in the dying of the light
But it’s not a rose it’s a beautiful buttercup, slight
Like the golden marvels we used to decide
Which side our bread was buttered.
Do we like butter or not? Was the yellow
Reflected on our chin? These flowers resemble
The wild rose — poisonous to humans –
Helleborus niger macranthus –
Enough to tangle any tongue.
Words weave their magic:
On the palate or on the page.
Thinking is believing
It’s never too late to…