this morning by Scott Ferry

 i shear the charred roses off
near the vibrant ones still breathing
i also cut the petal-less heads off before
they grow into hips
 
i let them fall to the ground
some dead get stuck in with the living
tangled in the branches but too many thorns
to try and extract them
 
i do this with my voice sometimes
i do this with my spirit sometimes
i cut and cut and cut and hope
i don’t cut an artery
 
or a silvery thread
i hope i can still pretend to be
what i pretend to be i hope to still
hope with all of these amputations
 
i love too much i have been told
i love too little i have been told
i have cut the dead accusations
i have cut
 
i remember only to be soft
with my grip when lifting my barbed arms
when carrying them to the garbage
when holding up what remains

Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal as a RN. He has recent work in the American Journal of Poetry, Misfit, and Spillway. His second book, Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies, is available from Main St. Rag. You can find more of his work @ ferrypoetry.com.