Twin Earth Signs

February’s snow moon, blue as a peach pit

in evening light, or buttercup cells under glass,

under the microscope. Antique stamps

saved from letters from lovers, not yours but

kept like hare’s tail grass, dyed indigo,

an old shoe box filled with remarkable things—

centers pulled from carnations as if

we could make a new flower altogether. Play God, 

blow on the centre of the rose to

plump petals. blooms in a chinoiserie vase

if I were hosting Cupid, I would pour claret, cook

veal medallions in raspberry truffle sauce.

Cupid, they would know me as Europa, 

possibly, but mutable. Not you, fixed Earth sign—

we, the Virgin and the Bull. bucolic—

this moonlight, my love letters in our mailbox, 

unopened, I am come home before the postman

You pour the wine, unwrap my gifts,

ranunculus seeds for the greenhouse. our lavender fields, 

our rose garden on fire.

Emily Bulicz-Arnelien