A friend of mine recently introduced me to Rattlesnake Prompts, so here is a sestina for the “small talk” prompt.

A sestina is a six stanza poem of six lines each, with a three-line envoi at the end. Instead of a set end rhyme, the sestina has a set pattern of end words that proceeds as follows:

 1 2 3 4 5 6
 6 1 5 2 4 3
 3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)

Here’s my sestina about small talk.

Flower Shop – Small Talk Sestina

He works as a florist. He is middle-aged. He is losing his hair.
He is hiding behind the counter. He is looking at a woman.
Her hair is haloed with rain. It loosens in wisps from a clasp
at her neck. The fastener shaped like a dragonfly.
She sees him. He is unfamiliar. He does not know
what to say. He lowers his eyes. Thinks I don’t want

anything. She says you were staring. What did you want?
He raises his gaze. I am sorry. I am simple. I am losing my hair.
You are more beautiful than flowers. But no, I do not know
you. He is thinking of what to say to this woman,
alone in the flower shop. He says where did you get it, the dragonfly?
Is it something precious, something you love? She touches the clasp

lightly, her fingers the kiss of butterflies. He hears the desperate clasp
of his words. He lowers his eyes. He should not have asked. He does not want
anything. In spite of his fascination with the dragonfly
settled at the nape of her neck, nesting the hair
beneath. He says, it makes me think of a woman
alone in a garden. A man is watching. He wants to know

why she is there. The man is awkward, he is often alone. He thinks she knows
this. Knows he wants to gather her hair and clasp
it with butterflies. He stares at her as the woman
approaches the counter. She says you can’t spend your whole life wanting
and never ask. She flutters her fingers through wisps of hair
that flick her face, then reaches back and snaps the dragonfly

away. The man says, bring it back, I want to see the dragonfly.
I want you to give it to me. Her hair tangles free. She says you do not know
me. She sees a man. Thinks he is awkward, and often alone. He is losing his hair.
She says I am sorry. I do not know you. Flutters her fingers, unlatches the clasp.
Says I don’t need anything. My life is simple. I have nothing to prove. But I want
to show you the rhinestones, green for the wings, and blue for the eyes. She is a woman

more beautiful than flowers. Her blue eyes like rhinestones. She thinks I am a woman
who is always exposed. Who always knows what to say. She says it is only a dragonfly.
You have given it too much importance. She steels his gaze. Says, I want
to show you. Opens her hand to reveal the glittering insect. He knows
it means something to her, the way she gently releases the clasp
and tips it over, onto the counter. Then she leaves, no restraint in her hair.

That night he dreams of a woman, a woman who knows
what she loves. She stands alone in a garden, dragonfly clasped
like want in her hand. She gathers her hair and leans over. The sky is heavy with rain.

Cynthia Cox
Nacogdoches, TX
3/22/24