“How to Choose Azaleas” by Leigh Anne Hornfeldt

First you must find the right man in the greenhouse, the one weathered like a fence post. Watch his fingers, not his eyes, watch which downturned blossom he rubs. Marry the deep lines of his neck but remember anguish in each of your black thumbs, a fresh bloom of blood near the kitchen window. Perennial, that which you’ve come for, that which comes back to you: living, chronic and indefinite, dizzies you each spring when you’re sick with loneliness. Perennial, that which stays. Perennial. That which purses you like a mouth with too much tongue.

-Leigh Anne Hornfeldt

32 thoughts on ““How to Choose Azaleas” by Leigh Anne Hornfeldt

  1. DaraLynn

    Vividly descriptive! I’d know the man in the greenhouse on sight. Earthy and visceral, especially that last line. It definitely “pursues” you long after you’ve read it. Nicely done!

    Reply

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