It's Still Life

An Aisling: A Dream of Weeds

She stood there
true, tall, and buxom,
hips ripe as sunshine, and

ivy twisting around her wrist.
A lattice green, knotweed
spiralling up one leg, and

dandelions, and daisies,
and choke weed tangling
in her hair.
She is faceless, the colour

of sand, though not quite blonde,
and not quite as grey as
the weather falling like a
relic heap on us, and

twigs are in her language.
They blur the hilltop view with
distant purples and lavender, and

she stands there, bare and still
and spidery, and me, I’m on my knees,
wetting her pale feet with weed killer.
And she is unmoved.

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NaPoWriMo Day 25: Write an Aisling poem that recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country on/in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Photo by henry perks on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #glopowrimo #napowrimo on Twitter