This poem is taken from PN Review 106, Volume 22 Number 2, November - December 1995.

Two Poems

Elizabeth Grainger


March Purchase
Irish tulips
at their core are warm.
Red and jarred they
lie about Spring,
the dirt on their bulbs
a botanical trick-
they never rooted
in this landscape.

February's sunlight,
measured in minutes,
could not have bred
this red in their petals

and yet they burn
in the market, pursed
buds transported
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