i would have told her
ceanothus blueblossomed
overnight, except
slow is how we are taking it,
slow as siltstone sets, slow as spring
lambs slogging through bush,
slow, as a banana slug might
slide through sprouted yarrow.
every poppy i passed today
was open, i wanted to tell her,
to ask, how gold does trefoil
come in outside your terrace,
how many monarchs mounting
sun cup did you count, did pink
petal, did balm of heaven
make it down your throat?
i would have, except
woman by Mukethe Kawinzi | Pink Peony Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
Mukethe Kawinzi is a shepherd and regenerative land steward. She is the author of touching grass (Porkbelly Press), Koans to a Young Cowboi (Bottlecap Press), rut (Ghost City Press Summer Series), and saanens, nubians, one lamancha (Winner, Quarterly West Chapbook Contest). Her writing illuminates the pathos and splendor of the natural world, race and queerness in rural spaces, the peculiar wit of livestock animals, and the pains and pleasures of physical labor. She herds goats on the open range in coastal California.
