red anemones

five blooms, black at the heart and red the colour of a cut thumb. they were bought wrapped in newspaper that the cook unwrapped slowly, the way a cook unwraps anything that costs more than it should. the foliage smells green and slightly bitter.

the pot is plain clay, unglazed, the kind seedlings get put into and forgotten. it sits next to the stove, on the cold side, where the steam from the kettle doesn't reach. somebody — not the keeper, the cook — set them there before the bread came out.

they will last five days and shed their petals all at once on the sixth, in a small red ring on the counter.

field-note — the black centre is not a centre but a cluster of stamens. it darkens overnight and stays open into the morning, even before the petals do.

see also: a kitchen bouquet · a single tulip · dahlias · salt-poppy