To A New Ex-Husband

written by Mary Rose Betten

In harsh Spring wind I rush
to the mailbox. There in full bloom
the rose you planted. White, edged in red.
 
Each Spring you announced
the name with pride.
I don’t remember its name.
This rose you birthed.
 
Yet I recall Burn’s poem
His love like a red, red rose.
Our passion now corpse white
fringed in blood from unattended
lop-eared needs.
 
Two indeed now one.
No longer yours alone.
One instead with splitting root
and weed-sown wind.
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