Ariel Gordon

Afterbirth: a walk in the park



Summer and the road's tar rhizomes tangle up

with plantain's root stout like a brown betty

its broad rosettes and long brown and mustard spears

spit-polished by the morning's rain

inside the park

the clover that marched across the meadow

a month ago is now so done dun and dry

as if the season has held a cupped hand

and a match to every pinked pollen-heavy head

further in the reintroduced grasses

presenting rapunzel rope ladders under the veil of soil

swaying heads above

screen white cabbage moths wasps

from the middle distance

and the centre of your wet

howl