Because I knew Mama’s garden’s roses, I knew all roses.
They (all) were white ones and pink ones, maybe florescent too if my eyes were young enough.
Of course I’d ask if I could eat them
(because they were so pretty).
Were they dangerous?
She says no, but they are bitter; better take them with our tea.
Putting them in my hand made me a boy who took his tea with rose petals.
who never loved me any differently than all he could,
kindly cut the thorns.