The Final Flytrap - Eden Breinich

will close itself too late. unlike the first,

whose target it chose with haste, mistake,

confusing something for nothing. a trap

lost and wilted away. eating

and eaten alive, tilted in self-cannibalism. 

what now? you know the pattern.

in tall pots dressed, hard to care for at best,    

hungry and fussy about their water. 

craving warmth so as to close around anything,

pink parts martyred and left agape. 

ripped from roots, one by one until none. 

to you alone, cold-blooded, brutal.

 

can i just say it? like love, like lust,

opening for the indifferent,

closing only to those who want. a chance

given and taken away. burning

and burnt out, twisted in self-sabotage.

what now? you know the pattern.

your careless confusion, vile at best,

Venus herself would decry and cry.

“you are no child of mine, charlatan.”

enough. let’s reconcile, reinvent

the wheel again. this heart must beat

in sync so as to close around anything

with sincerity. still, it will not be easy.

the final flytrap, snapping its mouth slow

around its wants—to others, imperceptible—

to you alone, earnest, gentle.

Mimesis of The Last Hummingbird of Summer by Beth Ann Fennelly