From the Dark Centers of Flowers

by Mary Stebbins Taitt · 129 words

Sometimes, I journey into darkness
while every shadow harbors a malevolent bat
whose wings reach out, sticky as spider webs
to trap me.

It’s a lovely day, friends say, trying
to cheer me. The sun shines; its warmth
caresses my skin, but in the shade, bats gather,
gnashing their teeth as their claws grow pointy.

When I bend to smell the flowers, the bats
ambush me. They pour from the center
of each blossom like flying monkeys,
like a plague of locusts.

When they eat holes in me, I am moth-eaten;
I am Swiss cheese. I am lace curtains
blackened by coal-fired ovens. I am despair.
The sun shines through me.

I am a pattern of light.

Mary Stebbins Taitt
120329-1642-1st

location: Detroit, San Francisco

photosource: me (acrylic painting) (detail from "the Misunderstanding")