Elizabeth Allen

Bloom

All day they have been drawing me back
to the kitchen table: a crossword question
I keep returning to, the answer just beyond

my tongue. I have been trying to find
their meaning: what they hold & signify,
what they expect & tell. What they can

know of me & what they can’t. Only
now that evening is coming in have I
tired of this frenzy & decided to let them

be flowers: cream lilies, red carnations,
white daisies, purple orchids & others
I do not know the names for, so cannot

show you. An odd jarring of colour in
a basket, like seeing yourself reflected
from many angles at once; the constancy

of body temperature, dry humour, wit,
gathered in together like friendships;

some about to open & some, almost:

Ending

it is only now
that it darts     across
your peripheral
vision
like a small
black cat

it has been waiting
for you     all along
arching its back
flirtatiously

you can’t approach
it directly

any sudden
movements
and all you will be
left with
is a dull machine
telling you

the USB mass
storage device
can now safely
be removed
from the system