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 Because the lilies aren't ready to bloom
the women of the wedding party fan out
across the reception hall, lean close
to each cluster of green and with two fingers
unlock the petals from one another,
nudge them apart enough to let light
slip in--flowers don't know what moves them,
they find themselves falling open,
one after another imperceptibly slow explosion,
awake, awake,
 they cry silently,
all around them the silverware
in formation, the wide-open faces of plates, expectant
white expanses of tablecloth, quiet now,
for the women have gone to pin white jasmine
in their hair, and the men pace on the lawn
in Sunday suits, squinting upward,
reading the sky for signs of rain.
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Author:Martinez, Chloe
Publication:Prairie Schooner
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2019
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