Tiger Lilies | Sarah Nichols

I remember the tiger lilies,
speckled brown in
a hazardous orange

curling in
on themselves
at the tip.

Your voice,
calling my name again.

Our own world,
pairing us off.

I remember
how you shook
after all of those pills.

That was my future.
I did not know it.

The tiger lilies
were still
in the spring air
when the paramedics
gave you ipeac
and drove you away.

They pumped your stomach
and your husband
insisted on your release.

You were my mother
and a mother to this,

the shared disease.

I ended in liquid charcoal.
I shook
after all of those pills.

The tiger lilies spoke:

Close your eyes.
Drink it down fast.

————
Sarah Nichols is a writer living in Connecticut. The author of two chapbooks, Edie (Whispering): Poems from Grey Gardens (dancing girl press, 2015), and The Country of No (Finishing Line Press, 2012), she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2015.

“Tiger Lilies” was previously published in the chapbook The Country of No (Finishing Line Press, 2012).

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