Hells Nasturtiums

Measured interpretations
of me that unhappy child

Stripped exposed –
windward as the rowan tree
that blemishes
the scarlet berries.

Lemon scent, varied
with the smell of spoil.
Your breathe scolding
the space we inhabit.
Rare peaceful  interludes – like masked
intruders, infrequent in their callings.
The house always so full of thunder
as if violent red
Nasturtiums did ascend  their way:
up
from hell…

 

Poppy May 2014 ~xx~

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