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Amy Speace
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Manila Street
The roses of the Philippines stretch across Manila Street, bursting with the vanity of summer rain：cardinal and cinnamon, damask, wine, vermillion — the patchwork mask of Harlequin in a parade*
He woo's the lady with his dance, like your thorny eloquence — I wish for things I cannot ask of you to say.
I count the days from then to this：when you woke me with a kiss — to the day when I won't miss you like I do today.
How will I know when to let it go, let it fall as soft as snow, maybe then.
How will I know when I'm over you, when tears give way to something new, maybe then I'll love again.
I dig the earth upon my knees, geraniums and peonies, lavender and rosemary to fill the hours.
Planting roots to catch and start and distract my hurting heart, surrendering to the art of blooming flowers.
How will I know when to let it go, let it fall as soft as snow, maybe then, maybe then. Maybe I'll know when I'm over you, when tears give way to something new, and maybe then I'll love again.
And so the petals bloom and fade, curling up in morning shade, I still wish for words I'll never hear you say.
I count the days from then to this — when you woke me with a kiss – to the day when I won't miss you like I do today.
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