A whole field of grasses
blazing in tribe and genus,
and here's my heart: last year's dried-up fruit.
I waited for you: my iconic prince
my ghost-robed invalid, my great regret.
Give others the lavender and aster
the lupine, the blazingstar.
I like the bitter stuff. Lay me in the water
with beggar-ticks and coltsfoot.
Anyone can choose pretty. It takes
a half-grown woman to choose wild.
- Lisa Ortiz
