Dried roses hang on the wall, wrapped and tacked

Sonnet by K Hank Jost

Dried roses hang on the wall, wrapped and tacked
with twine and a nail we stole from the bar
downstairs—probably ‘borrowed’ the hammer
as well. We still have it, under the sink.

I’ve never witnessed a single petal 
fall from the blossoms. If they did, they’d rest
on the garbage can’s lid—clattered shadow
of an old-fashioned promise, the good kind

that no one’s kept, but everyone
would love to make, can only hope for the love
to make. Were a single petal to fall, 
joined even by another, they’d then be

gathered up, prodigal and unchided,
tucked neat back into their buds and their stems.

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You can find K Hank Jost on Instagram @hank_being_a_better_ape