232: Reality's Fragility
- Eudaemonia Records
- Apr 9, 2021
- 1 min read
When I was little, we had glass tulips in a vase. Heavy, sturdy, spotted with bright colours. An exhibition piece. I never asked to hold them; I assumed I wouldn't be allowed to. They must surely be expensive. Handcrafted. One-of-a-kind. Luxury pieces. I admired them, though. I ran my fingers across them and wondered at their cold smooth texture, then curled my fingers up and held them protectively to my chest as I ran outside to find the real tulips in our neighbours' garden.
The real tulips had veins and grooves. They were red and orange and yellow and purple. They were soft. If I squeezed too hard, they flattened. Even a touch would bend a petal the wrong way. Fragile. When they wilted, I was mesmerised. Have you seen it? The petals open and curl. They shrink at the bottom. Twist. The vibrant colours obtain a white sheen along the grooves. They become plastic, and look like sugar sweets pulled thin like cane in a hot shop. A pungent smell rises from them. It gives me a headache. They die, deformed, no longer tulips. Even glass is more resistant.
Written by: Katrine Hjulstad
Instagram: @katrinehjulstad
Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.
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