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Poetry

In the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms,
she will protect you. Should she speak of flowers,
bring her Nightcap, Loosestrife. May you never come to harm.

As her hillside lies above you, she would ask your time
be spent upon this planet to discover flowers,
Blue Rain, Arrowleaf, and Aster, none of them the same.

Others may not know their beds, yet hearing of them
may still be enthralled. Wild Bergamot, Oswego Tea. May all flower
in the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms.

If you’re about to rest, if you would relearn calm,
know nothing upon earth is quieter than flowers.
Quaker Ladies, Thimbleberries. Gather them.

Love stem and blossom, petal, sepal, style. To ward off storms,
gaze upon White Avens, Blue-eyed Mary, Meadow Rue—flowers
in the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms.

Befriend all those in Beauty’s debt. Begin to climb
and when you reach her hilltop, kneel among the flowers:
Wildflower, Milfoil, Wood Anemone. Be one with them
in the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms.

 

 


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