Your words come to me, handtied. I am garlanded. Milkvetch woven among pear blossom, mistletoe between the honeysuckle, oak leaf geranium forms a crown and myrtle; myrtle makes it whole. I am overcome by this shower of flowers, intoxicated by the scent of sage. My garden grows empty in these strange days, when all I can plant takes time to bear fruit. My language feels stilted, my mind overwhelmed. My only reply; to wreathe you in daisies. Sun yellow eyes in bright white, overlooked and trodden over in lawns and verges. I will claim every last one, and cover you in petal kisses. (From the April 11th NaPoWriMo.net prompt) About the Author:
Beth Hartley is a poet of people and place, the transient and the eternal. She makes: home, faith, work, words and dinner. Itchy Preacher, always Mama. Part of the Fen Speak team – Ely’s poetry and spoken word event. Find her at: www.facebook.com/PoetryBees
