THE ORCHID
New York was dusty in its caves of windows, its tallest towers. The girl ran across the park, always late. They had eaten at a place called Aureole, which is a nipple but which is also a halo. She returned to her 23rd floor cubicle to no fanfare. When she ran her finger across her desk it came up gray with dust. There in front of her was the tall purple orchid her mother had brought, opening its mouths.
-- Joan Biddle
"The Orchid" appeared originally in Rhino]
I LOVE these prose poems by Joan Biddle!
Posted by: Nin Andrews | July 23, 2013 at 12:09 PM