Bitterwhite petals on the cement. The scent of pollen, of female bodies.
Struck dead underfoot by the hopeblind. Scar in the shape of a shoeprint.
Botanical roadkill. And still, surrounded by fallen petals, the evidence of its
irrelevance, the tree continues to flower with a kind of rancid determination.
An outrageous commitment to the beautiful, confronted by the indifference
of a species that drowns malformed puppies and leaves its children to burn.
A species self-convicted of the worst conceivable crimes, without bail.
A species that plants roses and has sex in the woods and waits for the rain.

Daphne Rose is an author, poet, and editor. She had studied fiction at the Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College and at the University of Iowa, and she is the editor-in-chief and founder of Sequoia Speaks, a print-based literary journal. Her work is published or forthcoming in The Fourth River, BarBar, and Assignment Magazine.

Instagram: @daphneroseauthor