wow.. 😔💔
okay, I know this is meant as a “funny ha ha” thing, but I couldn’t help myself:
Janet Russek. Lü - Treading (Conduct): Bay, East Hampton, New York, 1998.
“Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well; Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell? She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Epitaph in “Poems: Edna St. Vincent Millay”
“(…) shimmering blues of the wild aster, blossom of the lily, immense, gold-veined—”
— Louise Glück, from September Twilight in “Poems 1962-2012″
(via adrasteiax)
it’s easy to forget the
gods of agriculture now
to slough them out of our
pantheons like so much dead weight
because who has room for
the god of a sheaf of wheat
or the god who steadies the plow
or who keeps the blight out of the fields
or withers the piercing insects to husks
who has time for those prayers
or need of them
but still in the greener places,
he is the god of minute veins
on an unfurling leaf
a god of rows on rows of
seedling green pushing up
toward life
god of the herbs in the hot houses
swaying in the hum of fans
and the thistle clinging to the
black weed cloth and the
perennials sleeping in the dirt
he’s the god of osmocote now
and of magnesium sulfate
and of sulfuric acid
he’s the god of geraniums,
petunias, oleander, foxglove,
tickseed, ficus, echeveria.
god of a houseplant on a
crooked windowsill.
of a flower box,
of an urban garden,
of the tendrils of
a heart relearning
how to grow
-for freyr, feb 14th