![]() |
|
![]() |
|
Archives | |
I Could Not Ask Other FlowersBronwen TateToday multiplied. A layered wealth of strata along the sloped face of the work: ankle bone, wind blown grain, suck of honeysuckle, cell of honeycomb. Approach the hedgerow with reverence due a rood loft (consent, oh Lord, to bless). Spade in hand, cleave what knotted. I am of the same stripe as you who cry into the thorned canopy. I follow your gaze to the engraved steeple, bricked with birds’ nests. Talus, alveolus, narrate the landscape of this body. As thoughts pile up, bent, twined, twisted as flowers. ![]() Bronwen Tate Read Bio Author Discusses Poems |
|
©copyright 2004-2025, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors. | |
![]() |
![]() |