The edges of postal stamps curl upwards

crisp, emptied, like cocoons in March.

People, presidential buildings,

flowers, grow,

crawl out onto the table,

above the shine of glossed paper.

First, a rose blossoms above the stench

of adhesive, so close you might cut

your thumb,

then a strand of grapes

overflows the edges, fills the room

with the perfume of Cabernet.

The pile of stamps on the table

are no longer clumped like Pangaea.

There are continents. In Paris,

Marie Curie and Moliere watch Chopin play

a Nocturne in C Minor to the crowds.

In Hong Kong’s botanical gardens,

Frida Kahlo and Gertrude Stein picnic

in a watercolour painting of willows,

magnolias and flame of the forest tree,

as Frida sketches flamingos in the wetlands

Selina Whiteley (she/her) has been published in two books, “Up to Our Necks in It” and “The Kaleidoscope Chronicles” as well as in various magazines. Most recently, she was published in Literary Veganism and in The Lake. She will have two poems published in Neon Mariposa in May 2020.