Ode to the Carnation

(Dianthus caryophyllus)


Flower of Jove or heavenly flower, dianthus
as coveted shade of creamy lipstick— 

your name means flesh, which is the wrapping 
that garlands us upon entry into this world. 

Spike-headed, ruff-collared, faintly spicy like clove 
or nutmeg, your small bursts of radial symmetry 

please the makers of bouquets, except when they need 
blue and must dye you. You've been the emblem of mothers 

and assassinated presidents, uprisings and revolutions. 
After we're done laying our breasts on glass plates 

and they're pressed flat as we can bear, unwieldy 
blossoms between the pages of a book, the Women's 

Breast Center I go to every year hands out long-stemmed 
pink ones: kindness or apology, while we wait for clear results.