Remontant Poems

Bloom some roses. Wither. Bloom
Some more, the new ones blooming
Over the fruits of the first.

Not many wild rose species
Blossom so profligately.
Most stay summer flowering,

Enough for a few bouquets—
Fewer petals, richer scents.
But you’re an odd cultivar,

Rosa multirugosa,
Wrinkled, immune to salt tears,
Blooming as fast you can,

Over and over again,
Growing feral from neglect
On the cliffs sprayed by the waves.