Poetry by Trista Edwards
Lately, everything ends in flowers,
yet we need so little of their petals,
voiceless silks. Just coolness we take,
lay our brows to like a frosted pane.
Children enhance our distaste
of invented landscapes, too overripe,
even the birds neglect the lines
of juice sliding down the rind.
Catching the glare of dying flora,
I return to the proper names
of roses, their sad fate I adore more
than their assorted conceptions.
I have found sufficient the fracture
of our bodies, that place of questioning.
Trista Edwards is a contributing editor at Luna Luna Magazine. She is also the curator and editor of the anthology, Till The Tide: An Anthology of Mermaid Poetry (Sundress Publications, 2015). She is currently working on her first full-length poetry collection but until then you can read her poems at The Journal, Quail Bell Magazine, 32 Poems, The Adroit Journal, The Boiler, Queen Mob's Tea House, and more. She creates magickal candles at her company, Marvel + Moon.