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Guest Poet Ann DeVenezia

Garden Gloves

For every prom I wanted
a gardenia's heavy aroma
on my arm, circling my wrist
as he circled my waist
with his tuxedo black
touching bare flesh.

Waxy green leaves
strong as armor
never wilted in the fridge.
Only the white petals
turned brown by morning
now pressed in my Bible.

May, 2002

Ann DeVenezia's questions:

1. Is the image sharp with a hint of a story, or do I need to provide more details?

2. Does the persona sound happy or sad?

3. What do you think is the significance of "my Bible" in the second stanza?

4. Thank you for your feedback.

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