It's Still Life

Luisa

She collects white feathers
in the garden, scolds bees
as they steal nectar
from purple clover.

She keeps cookie crumbs
in her pockets, ketchup stains
on her favourite dress.
One shoe’s always untied,

she’s not sure
how to re-tie it,
hair clips hang loose
in her long black curls,

those curls are from her
other grandmother,
not me, and she feels my
every smile. She’s music.

She’s the future.

Twiglet #59 “future folk”