Flowers in Bramble by Taylor Marshall - For Ann Pale pink, deep magenta, dazzling white. See the supine yellow buds peeking out from a grainy, pollen centre. The heavy blooms, you’d think they’d droop to the earth, But they exude, push, expand their petals upward. Yet still, recumbent angels, opening from the grounding force of their strong, verdant columns. I help you water before supper at dusk. It is the end of July, and the evening is slow and heavy with heat. 80% thunderstorms, tonight rings out on the AM radio: Tornado watch for Coronach. School’s out, my wildness in bramble. I am weightless, I am rooted. Only your voice (diaphanous); your home (cocoon); your cooking (succour); your hollyhocks (paragons); buoy and anchor, lift me up and then bind me to the delicious dirt between my toes. Your garden is your pride. Saintly, seraphim vines of ivy cover the fence as people stop in awe, stare, and (if you have your way) stay for a coffee and a chat. The envy of all of Willowbunch. This is not hyperbole, nor legend. Even the Giant would be impressed. Your maiden name was Flowers, after all.
Taylor Marshall is an emerging writer from Regina, Saskatchewan on Treaty 4 lands. Her work has appeared in Pinhole Poetry Press, Spring Magazine Vol.14, [S P A C E] Magazine, and Acta Victoriana Literary Journal. Her debut poetry chapbook, “Transits,” was self-published in 2024. Taylor’s writing often ruminates on mercurial possibilities of selfhood along with the accompanying internal and external metamorphoses reflective of grief, change, and rebirth.
