Gladiolus
Children have chained their families
with the stalks, learned departures
as mother-petals, father-scents.
Children have caught the newest
blossoms between their fingers—
petals scattered, fathers smelling the centers
of their wives. Mothers tell their children
that God sleeps in the faded
mouths of simple creatures. Children,
quiet as cream, praying
to feel the bones of another
animal in their teeth.