Poet's Desk: Flora crece de

Ginger Hutchinson

flora crece de artwork.jpg

Rebekah Song

Flora crece de

In Flora, Indiana went four little girls.


What we know:

In the corner at the baseboard by the door remain a generous trace of accelerants, rumors fly in so small a town, a mother escaped while her children did not, and soon the people can no longer know what investigators translate from the ash.


What we do not know:

The birthplace of a flame, the songs the eldest sang to her sisters, if a soft hand burned on a doorknob. In November,


Snow may have slept on the lawn,

Could’ve touched the bare feet of a weeping mother,


As neighbors watched. Far beneath that ice

Spring’s seeds wait, unaware they will be made martyrs


Once they bloom. Hydrangeas die every winter to be

Born again of their remains: sweet stench of rotten petals.


The life cycle of a flower is a spell cast

             from the inside of a house.


Four little girls landed separately on the

same tree, and climbed together

too      high      to



Four little girls drawn away into dust

do not know who prays they die

and are reborn again

and again.