The Rose Bush

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Years ago, I planted a rose bush,

hoping for that one perfect rose.

.

The first bud bloomed quickly.

It was lush and rich and beautiful,

but it was also black as night,

tainting all hands that touched it.

It soon died to never bloom again.

.

The second bud had trouble blooming.

Much time passed before its petals began to show.

It was delicate and required much care.

Although its pure beauty was appreciated,

this yellow rose failed to outlast the others.

It soon became a flower of the past.

.

Within no time the third bud began to blossom.

Its deep red was breathtaking,

grabbing the attention of everyone who caught sight of it.

People loved peaking at it,

trying to imagine what it would grow into,

but, to their dissappointment,

the bud stopped blooming.

It didn’t close, open, or die.

It just paused in time.

And it still holds a place in the rose bush,

teasing everyone with the thought of what could have been.

.

Now, at the top of the plant,

a new bud is making its presence known.

Through it is too early to know for sure,

its light nature implies a white rose is in the works.

Pure, beautiful, and meant to last.

I’m sure this rose will have no competition,

but we’ll only know when it has fully bloomed.

.

Years ago, I planted a rose bush,

hoping for that one perfect rose.

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About Tatiana Figueroa Ramirez

Born in Puerto Rico and raised in the mainland United States, I graduated with a B.A. in English Literature from the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC) and am a 2016 VONA Voices Alumna. I currently perform spoken-word in the greater Washington D.C. area and have previously performed in Philadelphia, Miami, and the Dominican Republic. Most recently, I have been published in Public Pool, Spillwords, and The Acentos Review, and Here Comes Everyone: East & West Issue.

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