Tan Carton on the Porch, Addressed to Mom

I cut the perforation
and tug hard until it opens
to another box,
much easier to release

and behold a nylon mesh
around one more container,
a six-inch black cube
with a plastic cover.

Inside, the burgundy roses,
three rows of four lined up.
Like cupcakes in a baking tin,
they face me.

I imagine they have eyes.
Their instructions:
Do not touch or water us
Do not expose us to sunlight
If water touches us
Use a hair dryer

No card, but I know
my estranged son sent this gift.
Later, his wife writes,
they are meant
to last a long time.

*

Holly Guran, author of Twilight Chorus (Main Street Rag), River of Bones (Iris Press) and two chapbooks, received a Massachusetts Cultural Council award. Now Before and Ever (Kelsay Books) is her recent collection. Her work has appeared in journals including Poet Lore, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Salamander. Selections from her narrative poems, based on a 19th century correspondence between a mill girl and the editor she married, have been performed in Boston and at the Lowell National Historic Park. She enjoys working with a popular series, Rozzie Reads Poetry and Open Mic, held monthly in Boston.