Beatrix Gates

Nothing To Hide

in memory of Assotto Saint

I was born caged with love,
and I have an infinite
amount to show
so I wear a coat
that turns out,
the way tulips like to do.

Tulip, I insist on saying your name,
Tulip, I insist on being hauled from the ground
in a tight gray glove, a curling fist
sent straight to the sun rays.
I keep it up-- and who’s counting-- for a month,
bobbing in the air, more modest and choosy at night,
and splayed open at noon to all of Rome,
then petal by petal, triumphant,
drop, bloody drop-dead gorgeous.

Back