A Vase

A funny story accompanies this short piece. Last semester my girlfriend had a graduate poetry class at U of M flint. She was assigned to write a descriptive prose on anything she would like. She struggled to find a topic and I suggested this flower vase that she had made for our apartment earlier that week. She had replied that she did not or could not derive the feeling necessary to complete her work . I was upset with her reaction, considering she spent so much money on the vase and replied, "Well, for fifty bucks it better make you feel something." Needless to say, after a short argument I had her fetch my notebook, and within five minutes composed this descriptive piece. Her reaction was, "I hate you!” jokingly of course.

A Vase

A soft sweet scent lingers from a lonely corner. Only accompanied with a robust smell of bleeding red. Light brings to life only what the nose has discovered as the afternoon sun sets thru the gleaming glass. A single vase is the culprit, about a half of leg in length. The sweet smell protrudes soft white and purple flowers standing erect only to be overrun by the thorny clutches of the royal red blossoms.