Storm On the Hill
the lavender upon the hill
drifts through my open doors
supple chords of a stormy day
to riffle my hairs to rising
the purple bends my eyes
as it folds but does not snap
against the fit of summer wind
in the temple hands are lifted
to join trees murmur of concern
safe passage from this world
not always one of choice
a thunder claps inside my womb
echos of an unfinished harvest
sending me to sit within the heath
surrounded by tempest song
i’m held tight in bended arms
buffeted by testosterone
loved by mother’s estrogen
the lavender will survive this day
…until the summer cutting
with blessings, so will i
Copyright © Jeanne Mcgee | Year Posted 2020
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