MEGAN OWENS

Jane Loudon

Early spring, you untied your hair

Looking back at dust through dew-dusk windows

And combed it with the prongs of a shell;

Chicoreus Dilectus, the snail that had pocketed

And smoothed itself into the corner of your eye,

Mused: ‘Painted Lady, wander, wander,

When those wings failed did you twist them

In your palm; those superfluous wings that were

Gilded pretty like moonstone?’

Vanessa Cardui, too, had mused

Through the husky skin of metamorphosis;

From which the day, and the evening, and the pink lip of sky

Warmed its back and yawned, pacing the new ground.

Tulipa; red, gold, white

Grew collectively across a well tended lawn,

You noted their knell, clung onto each coiled bulb

In your own soiled hands.

Tulipa; red, white, gold

Grew over the stallion and his princely mane

Her heart still pinned to his chest.

Şirin! Şirin, bőylece, o zaman prens dűstű.

Set as footnote

‘Shirin, shirin! look the prince has fallen’ basically a Turkish love story where the prince fell tulips rose from his blood.  Life through death and the promise of love.  Shirin is the princess.