Queen Anne’s Lace

No one told us they weren’t regal
as the name they came by, weren’t
connected in some way to pedigree—

And so mother planted stands of them
around the garden after plots of grass
were rolled out, and borders marked

with quarry stone— Wild carrot, tufted
bird’s nest, belled hoops of devil’s plague.
I cupped their flimsy skirts in my hands

and tugged them, loosening a rain
of tiny seed pearls from this common
weed, looking for the bud in the middle,

the one they said was tinted red
from when the lady pricked her finger
with a needle, making all this lace.

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