Heavy Flowers

The hairbrush
waits patiently,
bedside.
The mirror
is off-duty.

There’s a plane
of quilted flowers.

Breath is heavy.
You feel
loosely-built.

The soft music
of the body
rocks you
in the room’s warm coat.

The world,
large and lost,
vast and wondrous,
diminishes.

Years will come,
sweep you away.

But this
is where you lie
for now,
amongst the heavy flowers.

Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Willawaw Journal, The Alembic, Hawaii Pacific Review, and Common Ground Review, among others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net, and was a finalist for 2013 Poet Laureate of the city of Houston, TX.  She is currently a staff editor for Mojave River Review.  Having relocated from Houston, she now lives in Beaverton, OR.