I Never Promised You A Rose Garden Poem by Cristina M. Moldoveanu

I won't forget the times when I made roundish letters
in blue-black ink
as if I were crushing blackberries
perfumed and wild
and in the eyes of that man by chance
it was always the same Toulouse-Lautrec painting
with my watery-blue dress
like a cloud in the armchair covered in calico fabric
the color of rose petals freezing
in late November
with his checkered hat thrown
accidentally over my raincoat
I wondered too much
why he squeezed the whole sun between his teeth
while laughing
I continued to write about my dreams
like white dead pigeons
my lord
with the heart shielded between wings