FROM THE PLAGUE YEAR

Poetry

Mar 13

When more people die than get sick

it means they are taken unaware

away from home in midstream.

It means dwarf cassoway blooms,

helichrysium arenarium in lim soil

give a scent of curry, golden flowers

like papyrus. I feel water deepening

around me. See, it’s reflected in the sky.

Birds swimming in and out of woven clouds

blue stars in the weave, reeling like ships,

smell of hyacinth and horses. Don’t

take me east, I whisper at the border,

prisons larger than castles, camps. Blue

flowers never last. You’re going down-

stream. Here’s a coin for your passage.

PUBLISHED IN PENDEMICS JOURNAL NO. 3, LIMINAL

Gunilla Kester

FEW RIVERS RUN NORTH BUT MORE THAN YOU THINK