Beth Williams

Horticulture

I bow my head
and you label the pose
wilting, assume my tongue
is bone dry. Wine is not a cry
for help, water seldom a pool
to bathe. Call my mood blue
then step aside. Thaw turns
the slope into a causeway
home. A lone break in the shade
bursts with flower, the buzzing
joy from a swarm of bees.
I’m on my knees again, this time
forging a path through grass, blades
bent over in forgiveness.

Beth Oast Williams is the author of the chapbook Riding Horses in the Harbor (Finishing Line Press, 2020). Her poetry has been accepted for publication in Leon Literary Review, SWWIM, One Art, Fjords Review, Dialogist, Invisible City and Rattle’s Poets Respond, among others, and nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.