The RoseThe treasure at the heart of the rose
is your own heart's treasure.
Scatter it as the rose does:
your pain becomes hers to measure.Scatter it as a song,
or in one great love's desire.
Do not resist the rose
lest you burn in its fire.Gabriela Mistral 1889-1957
(trs. by Langston Hughes)
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First Memory
What was your first memory? I'd never been able to answer that question until yesterday. While looking at old pictures, I found one of my favorites– me in my new red corduroy bathrobe, fresh from my Mother's needle. It was a happy moment that called for a picture, and I remember it clearly. I couldn't wait to see the pretty red garment when the film was developed. However, the bathrobe wasn't red– it was black! My disappointment was immense. The back of the photo says, "2 yrs. 7 months."
For some reason, this picture is the heart of me, and to find it the day I found this beautiful poem (above), along with a rose photo, that became a heart only when I saw it through the lens, seems perfect.
The rose is 'Color Magic' and it appears on page 61 of my book, The Poetry of Roses, with the following poem:Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.Dorothy Parker 1892-1967
The approach of Valentine's Day seems a good time to send someone a signed copy of The Poetry of Roses. Send me a comment and we'll do another drawing. (It's a very valentiny kind of book.)
