I am sharing again another poem by Kwame Dawes. Enjoy Wisteria.


Circumspect woman,
you carry your memories
tied up in a lipstick-stained
kerchief in a worn straw basket.
When you undo the knot,
the scent of wisteria,
thick with the nausea of nostalgia,
fills the closed-in room.

You lean into the microphone,
smile at the turning tape,
while fingering the fading petals.
You intone your history,
breathing in the muggy
scent of wayward love.
Your anger is always
a whisper, enigmatic,
almost unspoken,
just a steady heat.

I don't like 'em
never did, never could...

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