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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=389932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Still Life with Tulips</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=389932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Because you did, I too arrange flowers,<br>Watching the pistils just like insolent tongues<br>And the hard, red flesh of the petals<br>Widening beneath my eyes. They move like the hands<br>Of clocks, seeming not to move except<br>When I turn my gaze; then savagely<br>In the white room, they billow and spread<br>Until their redness engulfs me utterly.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=389932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Mother, you are far away and claim<br>In mournful letters that I do not need you;<br>Yet here in this sunny room, your tulips<br>Devour me, sucking hungrily<br>My watery nourishment, filling my house<br>Like a presence, like an enemy.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=389932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Geared to your intervals as the small hand<br>Of a clock repeats the larger, I,<br>Your too-faithful daughter, still drag behind you,<br>Turning in the same slow circles.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=389932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Across the years and distances, my hands<br>Among these fierce, red blossoms repeat<br>Your gestures. I hope my daughter never writes:<br>'Because you did, I too arrange flowers.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Erica+Jong">Erica Jong</a></strong></div>