On Coming Upon The Phrase "Rosa Mystica"

to my Grandfather, Milton B. Young
and Grandmother, his Lucy

rosa mystica.
in my garden.
why, that was all of them,

all the rose bushes
my Grandfather ever planted
in one corner of our backyard

and how we regarded them,
my sister and I, being young
drinking them in

mystified they were ours
as much as for him.
and he wanted it that way.

and also, bouquets
for Grandmother.
for Mama.

each one our blossom
we wanted to save
and almost wept to see

rose petals.
the roses
weeping their lives away.

so we collected them
the unfortunate rose petals,
wrapped them in plastic wrap

hoping to make
rose perfume
that would stay

and we did feel
with glad hearts
when we stuck them inside

Grandmother's linen closet,
we had rescued them.

later on
they came to mouldering light
what is this?

Grandmother said.
so we took them back out to the garden
and laid them to rest

among their youngest sisters
still in bloom.
and felt a little gloomy

at our failed experiment.
so now I think
perversely, not looking up

the Latin, over catholicized,
bound to be definitions of
the phrase Rosa Mystica

this is what it means to me,

that delicate phrase...
God raised our petals up on that day
each one

a rosa mystica,
while we played
Mother, May I?

so say I.
This May.

mary angela douglas 16 may 2019