She Of The Field

Posted on by

Her stripes will never be white-washed
Her rudbeckia sun
Will never be tilled under
Love!
What cheapness have you done?

Your patch of earth, a briar field
Tall thistle lines your way
When beauty comes to ask you
Dear!
What answer will you say?

Clover

Posted on by

How to select weeds

Telling certain ones, “it’s time to out you from this place.”

And whispering to others, “I’ll protect you from their scrutinizing eyes.”

For weeds, we know, live ‘long side the wanted, the beauty.

Yet also, left untended, may aspire to choke.

How

How to select weeds

“What is a weed?  A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hypodermic

Posted on by

I wonder how I’d look with the Sun on my face. Not the fast and deep flowing sunlight, who I long ago named Hope. But the actual Sun. Surely the truth and green of my eyes would shine. Surely I’d see my chin lifted ever so slightly higher. Surely I’d feel beautiful. Then, “Hope,” I could say, “move along.”

Shoulder

Posted on by

It’s just my shoulder

There’s nothing inherently beautiful or strong, tempting or freeing

Cool or calm about it, is there?

It’s just an offer

There’re billions of others to stand square with, befriend or lean on

Swoon over or serve with, aren’t there?