Talking about my lavender—
Gardener's Hand Repair Cream,
essential oil for tension headaches,
under wear drawer liners and
messy woody bushes in the front yard,
(the ones that calls the bees) —
Don't knock it if you ain't tried it.
Telling me it’s an old women’s smell
telling me it tickles your nose—well
g'wan then and let it tickle
g'wan and sneeze--God Bless You
Let me tell you about my lavender
that the bees love so much—watch them
happily drink and drunken, wobble home.
They won’t sting you so full, but if they do,
this very flower will heal the wound
and calm your nerves.
The buds
is what does it, the pretty purple buds
that I use to extract the essential oils,
that I use to stuff the pillows against
tired eyes and anxious dreams and
restlessness that takes you wandering
far from me, young’un, far from me.
If it makes you think of an old woman,
let it remind you of me and the hours
we spent gathering sweet clover and
lavender honey, clarifying and spooning
it onto the bread we baked—a feast
for all the senses. If
it makes you think
of old women, think of the joys of a long life
to witness the changes of a century or so.
This can be yours while lucid and mobile
if you remember to bring along fresh garlic
and the honey the bees give you,
bees covered, like me, in lavender.
Copyright © 2015 S.L.Chast
