A Date in La Mer

Poetry by Reema Baniabbasi
Photo by Riccardo Vicidomini Varotto

I once dated a rose
while dressed in a coral floral dress.
I held its stem, swinging it like a hand,
while prancing about on my way
to brunch by the beach.

“Table for one, outside” I tell
the waiter who then seats me
in a quiet corner while I seat the rose,
laying it across from me on the table.

The rose does not care about
what do I do—whether for work or fun,
or about how much sense or nonsense I make,
or whether I’m made of beauty standards
—though I did wear some makeup that day.

I don’t even care about what
the rose does or does not do.
I just love how it taught me
to romance myself tight like a bud
and then bloom out to the breeze—
—a kiss blown to me by the sea.

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