Whorled

 'I touch'--she said once--'petals of a rose. / A silky feeling through me goes!'

Is it possible to think

Mainly about something not

To do with what people do

Without betraying people

Who have suffered at the hands

Of people and what they do?

Two young writers were talking,

Interviewing each other,

Logrolling, really, sweetly—

You prize my work; I’ll prize yours—

Discussing the serious

Business of moral witness,

When one sighed and said,

Sometimes I wish I could just

Write a poem about flowers.

You poor thing! Oh, by all means,

Write a poem about flowers.

You don’t have to publish it

Or show it to anyone.

Do you really think flowers

Aren’t important to humans,

Practically, morally,

Emotionally? They’re good

Distractions from wickedness

Only since they’re important,

Since they draw attention and

Attention draws in meanings.

It could be daring to write

About inhuman flowers,

Ignoring allegory,

With no appreciation

For lovely symbolism,

How the earliest flowers

Probably had petal-like

Tepals and pollen-bearing

Stamens arranged in layered

Whorls of three. It could be good

To paint poems bee-deep in blooms.

But the question still remains—

Is it possible to think

Mainly about something not

To do with what people do

Without betraying people

Who have suffered at the hands

Of people and what they do?