dance of death

dying tulips

Despite the supermarket’s conservative estimate of a mere five-day lifetime, the same bunch of tulips has kept me entertained now for a full two weeks.

Last weekend I wrote about how they are more expressive than some cut flowers, struggling to escape captivity in the vase and writhing in torment as they die.

It was a mixed bunch, of which the variegated flowers seemed to be the least repressed, stretching wide open, then folding back on themselves, scattering the sooty powder from their stamens and eventually shedding their petals.

dying tulips

Their yellow sisters, on the other hand, just dried up, shrivelling and shrinking slightly but retaining their essential cup-like shape.

dying tulips

The red tulips were different again, their petals curling and twisting, like the cape of a toreador or the satin skirts of a flamenco dancer caught and frozen in mid twirl by the camera.

dying tulips

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

4 thoughts on “dance of death”

    1. Thank you!
      There was also something unsettlingly insect-like about the red tulips, but I couldn’t quite work out what it was and it doesn’t come across in the photos. Since these are probably the last of tulips of the season, I’ll have to wait a year and see if I can identify the same thing next year.

      Liked by 1 person

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