Flamenco at the Thirsty Bear. Jim Gunshinan

About Jim Gunshinan

 • The Artificial Heart
 • Heroes
 • Geography Lessons
 • Blue Cornflowers
 • Living by Water
 • Upon This Rock
 • The Man Dad Brought
    Home from the War
 • Physics
 • Black and White
 • Not the Mom We Were
    Used To
 • Nothing Sacred
 • Spring
 • Transformation
 • Please Straighten That Up
 • Up from Depression
 • What the Body Wants
 • Compassion
 • Commute
 • Kiss Me
 • Starter Castles
 • Flamenco at the Thirsty
 • A Nature Poem
 • Portrait of a Woman from
   the Gardens of Egypt in the
   First Century



Blue Cornflowers

Crimson roses cascade down the stacked, concentric layers
of our wedding cake.
Its paper-thin, dark chocolate walls

hold passion fruit.
The roses reverse the thousand steps I climbed
in a dream, before I was ordained

while the congregation below me became a blur.
It’s dizzying, coming down to my body
waking up to find you in a white dress, under trees

in Tilden Park. I’ve hiked these trails alone for years.
The pine needles smell like cinnamon.
In the spring, poppies, like licks

of orange flame, have called to me
not to worship, but to stop, bend down, and love them.
I remember our first date. I was waiting

by the restaurant, in front of a florist stand.
You came around a corner, wearing a dress
the color of cornflowers.

  © Jim Gunshinan, 2013


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