Petunia
Her petals in the bathtub swirl
the water around us, her fingers make laps
& ripples, each body a shore, a determinable
end for the waves we pulse back-and-forth.
Here we can hold hands without fear.
Petunias without sun will not bloom,
true of her as her namesake, her back
& shoulders a pollock of new freckles.
I run the rag along her neck,
tracing its meridians,
she tells me
that petunias as a gift mean anger,
not all flowers make good presents.
She re-ties her hair, recently Kerotin-ed,
but the ends have already begun to curl & twist,
the strands that aren’t swept up
I wash, watching the ironed flatness,
the artificial straightness slowly crimp.
We dry, re-petaled in the towel’s
spindles of cotton, to bed.
We have no names for what’s to come:
the hand that reaches over in bed
between my breasts like a safety belt,
her breath against my nape, as if
she too was trying to see my curl pattern,
bringing forth the natural & hidden waves.
This poem is from the chapbook She Loves me, She Loves me Not by Madari Pendas, and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/she-loves-me-she-loves-me-not-by-madari-pendas/
SHE LOVES ME, SHE LOVES ME NOT is a queer poetry collection structured as a metaphorical bouquet, weaving together diverse experiences, impressions, expressions, and moments. The collection explores themes of identity, the journey of coming out, friendships that blur the line with romance, the complexities of limerence, and the lingering wounds left by profound love.
Madari Pendas is a Cuban-American writer, translator, and painter. She is the author of Crossing the Hyphen (Tolsun 2022). Her work has appeared in CRAFT, PANK, Smokelong Quarterly, The Masters Review, Oyster River Pages, and more. Pendas has received awards from the Academy of American Poets, O, Miami, as well as two Pushcart nominations. She was a Lawrence Sanders Fellow at Florida International University where she received her MFA in fiction.
The Paddock Review 