by Caroline Smith
Louise, Louise. I tasted as many as I could. I’m trying to find the difference between the berry and the flower. The Yew on your hand and the one we sat upon on South Beach. Louise, Louise. I tasted as many as I could. The apples, the orchards, the Islands born of their very root systems. Where is my Spring? I hope to see you, there, my friend.
How you loved me as a bird, how you loved me. How the weft fell and the warp followed. How you took your knuckles against me, how you stretched me as long as only you could.
Caroline Smith writes on + of unceded Coast Salish territory, more specifically on a small Island surrounded by the Salish Sea. As a weaver, poet, plant tender, caregiver, movement guide, and Shepherd-to-be, Caroline works to create & sustain beauty + freedom in all things, especially in the woven communities she exists within and of. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Yes, Poetry, Messy Magazine, Occulum Journal, Pussy Lit Magazine, and elsewhere.