The Rose Petals of Dried Blood

She always called herself Rose
Her salt and pepper hair swirled and bounced when she walked
Red lipstick smudges on those cigarette butts
Lip marks on her coffee cups in the sink
Incense swirling in a chipped bowl on the counter
The thick smoke battling with the toxic scent of tobacco
The thick greys battling each other in the air
She surrounded herself with the reddest roses
And to match them her life was full of the sharpest
Thorns that held her forever in place
Her children millstones around her neck
In a way they suspended each other
Neither rising and neither falling
Rubies in gold glittering on her fingers
As the smoke cloud engulfs her being
Nails the color of blood and the cherry of a cigarette
Red, so much red when I think of her
Glittering glasses upon her nose
She always smelled of smoke and that color
I can reverse the years in my mind
Unwrinkle the hand of time upon her
Black curls resting on her shoulders
A red shimmering jacket and blue jeans
Lips the color of blood and a grin sharp as a knife
Never the smile of a house wife in those blue eyes
Mother of monsters, Queen of roses, and Grandma to me