by Rebecca Thrush
The mint on my sill bites
brighter than the dirt
Covered leaves off my mother’s pathway
She never tends to these
plants but she tends
To love the shimmering sea
they yield in shades of green
And crystallized drops
of silt, overwhelming her
Bushy blues and muted mauves.
Like memories of summers lost
These leaves are flooded
with once clear water
Muddied by your father’s earthly remains
In a jar so small
I could never fit
The weight of his bloated limbs
and unmistakable song
Full of dusky lows and cardinal
trilling, just rough enough
Around his papered skin to scratch
my cheek, to brush the edges
Of your greened overgrowth.
Maybe one day I’ll have a big enough ocean
to bathe myself in its oils
Emerge fresh, like an icy bath
And taste the bite of every minted consequence
About twenty of Rebecca Thrush’s poems have been published, both in print and online, in the past few years. Most notably last year, two of Rebecca’s pieces were published with Line of Advance’s 2021 Wright Poetry Award series and Viewless Wing’s Scary Poetry Contest. Rebecca also has original artwork online with a few publishers. Rebecca currently works in property management in Massachusetts, but has a passion for poetry and mixed media arts.
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