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The Herbalist’s Apology Oleander is my favourite flower You know this, and so You take it’s meaning to be mine. That I am dangerous and fierce behind my shell of calm precision. I have never been a poisoner; I study empathy and ails, Treat the effects of their making, Fill the sickbeds with their resting faces. We met in Chrysanthemum’s, Your smile all fire and wily, Against my floral-heart. Like incense burns, it smelled sweet. When I was young, I’d find Honeysuckle Past the books, in vacant dirt. I never questioned how they got there. I drank their sweet, I didn’t think. We are made of dirt and bones, And roots and mud and spill; And every inch of give and take, Has been lost in our burial song. I am no Oleander; No undone poison except for me But your Honeysuckle Is sweet relief, my love. And I am sorry, for all we have done Elizabeth Harris
10 Dircksey June 2022
