Moon Daisies
In June we are a field of fallen light,
full moon taken down in synthetic magic,
here, not pool hidden, but earthed in red dirt.
In summer, my voice is a daring skylark,
lifting into the high nowhere, body secret,
intention clear as the throat belled song.
If I am grounded, I am a marsh orchid,
stitched in with milkwort and wild thyme,
darned hillside flashes, on a giant's sleeve.
Sometimes, you are wayside poppies,
bird planted passion, crimson riot,
or else the tenacity of oil seed rape,
bringing the sun up through pavement cracks,
in a wild urban garden, rising strong, indestructible.
Our children are blue geraniums, self set,
celebrating everywhere, not knowing
that boundaries between weed and cultivar
are a construct made to keep things small.
Together, we are always the field,
like the one we crept into at a long journey's
apex, as twilight eased the day away,
carefully charging the air electric, before night
could sidle in. We were there in delicate petals,
bright luminescence, holding our moment's gleam.
Alison Jones’ work has been widely published in journals such Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry, The Interpreter’s House, The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. Her pamphlets, Heartwood (2018) and Omega (2020) were published by Indigo Dreams. She is working on a full collection, and an interdisciplinary project bringing together poetry, music, art and film.
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