It's Still Life

I. 
Broken 

I talk to drought beaten plants 
that disappear before my eyes, 
driven by no road to their end. 

Bees are already a memory.  
Wind cutting like broken glass. 

And I don’t know what dead 
land this is.

Written for ragtag daily prompt on 26.05.23 “driven”

II. 
Tea

Dried 
and sun-crisp parched,
a silver spoon ringing 
against fragile china clay. 

Scented 
like a head full of roses. 

I wake.
I sleep.
I love 
this potion.

Written for Ragtag Daily Prompt of 27.05.23 “tea” 

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