The Rose That Waits

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The Rose That Waits

Like my past

It lies inside a trunk

Inside an empty box

Of chocolates tasted decades ago


It lies quietly bent and shapeless

Lost its color and life

In darkness it waits

For fresh air perhaps

For the touch of my hand

The feel of my lips


My past waits for me

To admire its beauty

To relive its history

To explore its withered remains


The dead rose of my life lies

Inside my bygone love affairs

In silence it waits to join with me

© Nancy Mercado. Reprinted by permission in Centro Voices on 10 April 2015.

Centro Voices (ISSN: 2379-3864).
The views expressed here are those of the author and not necessarily those of Centro Voices, the Center for Puerto Rican Studies or Hunter College, CUNY.