In my search for a poem to feature this week, I came across this one by a poet I'd never heard of. I still know very little about her but I know I like her poem, especially this last section:
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.
by Amy Gerstler
Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies
and trip over the roots
of a sweet gum tree,
in search of medieval
plants whose leaves,
when they drop off
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they
plop into water.
Suddenly the archetypal
human desire for peace
with every other species
wells up in you. The lion
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,
queen of the weeds, revives
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt
there is a leaf to cure it.
That poem is a wonderful discovery, Dorothy. Every line resonates with me. Thank you for sharing it. 😃
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