Herbal Medicine by PD LYONS
What if there among their jars and vials
Those poisons that heal came out to play?
Reminisce of summer days,
lazy cats tucked behind old railroad ties
not bothering to move
Even for those well round robins
Tickling roots in search for tender nourishment.
What if among tinctures, oils and dry leaves
it was their nature for telling stories?
Like that time it snowed in April
what sensations to be brand new
tender to an icy touch
all glitter in the afternoon sun.
and oh those Saint John nights
so black, so clear
Stars pushing slowly, the world noticeably turns
refreshed from manic summer selves
our magic then to dance
sitting at home on the rainiest last day of August, remembering harvesting st jon’s wort with blood red fingers from the oil…jars sitting on my windowsill now getting redder and redder…looking forward to using the magical oils and looking back to summer in the garden
