The Primrose Path
Nothing prim about wanton clusters of tight-bundled flowers in clotted earth.
A bunch of fairy keys to hidden realms.
Gift of youth: petals that reveal fears of being forsaken.
Primrose’s balm soothes heartbroken insomniacs.
Promiscuous in hedgerows, banks and waysides, among snowdrops and hellebores.
Rosettes of egg-shaped, coiled leaves, tapering to green-veined stalks,
for grinding with saffron, rice, almonds and honey.
Pin-eyed, thrum-eyed, sweet-faced spring’s promise,
I cleave scrappy roots laced with earthworms,
a robin plucks the disturbed ground,
as I lift and plant, until a drift of marshmallow light
nestles in ice-rimed soil.