Herbal Medicine by PD LYONS

What if there among their jars and vials

Those poisons that heal came out to play?

Reminisce of summer days,

lazy cats tucked behind old railroad ties

not bothering to move

Even for those well round robins

Tickling roots in search for tender nourishment.

What if among tinctures, oils and dry leaves

it was their nature for telling stories?

Like that time it snowed in April

what sensations to be brand new

tender to an icy touch

all glitter in the afternoon sun.

and oh those Saint John nights

so black, so clear

Stars pushing slowly, the world noticeably turns

refreshed from manic summer selves

our magic then to dance

sitting at home on the rainiest last day of August, remembering harvesting st jon’s wort with blood red fingers from the oil…jars sitting on my windowsill now getting redder and redder…looking forward to using the magical oils and looking back to summer in the garden