Submissions
Daffodils for Breakfast by Ashok Niyogi
Seven yellow daffodils,
With plant-food
In a crystal vase,
I stare
At seven yellow daffodils.
Translucent outer petals
Pale and thinly veined,
Like the fair wrists
Of a Bengali lady
Of pedigree.
The inner petal
Of denser hue,
Tubular, bulging at the base,
Funneling and flaring
Like a horse in a race,
Or maybe an inverted Victorian gown
Bordered with lace.
And then,
The mystery of the pistil,
Pregnant with organized pollen,
Straight and narrow like a shotgun mike.
A tendril inside the pistil
Smells like room freshener, atomized
For arctic ozone holes.
The refrigerator whirs back to life,
Milk from Costco will expire today,
Breakfast has to be grits.