Green Absent Black

Sticky green, lush
spirals on woody stems
that barely move
in the coast winds.

We called them black
for the pods, the way
they cast seeds
dirt imprinting stone
dark with dust.

I swallow silence, taste the tea
as you hand me fresh cuttings.
And all this time
I thought the leaves oozed
shadowed things, absence.

Great grandmother knew well
you say, moving memories from
fingers to apron in sage stains.
The bees know too.

Tara Linda © 2017

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BlackSage8684

Author: tara linda

musician, poet, jewelry maker

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