Urban Physic Garden



June 24th, 2011 · No Comments · Medicinal Plants Poetry Project

Minor yōkai had one night lifted out the meat,
which was as full and wet and heavy
as a yam (just peeled) and beat at its cage
like a blood-slicked boxer until they freed it.
They hammered in an equal weight of wood,
atomic-dusty, sprig-tailed, cut from a lower branch,
and sealed the boy’s chest with river mud.
Now rootsome,
with a bloodful of nootropics, his new heart
does not hang low or lopsided but,
like a hurtling iron ball,
is buoyed by its own velocity.
It’s no wonder
he’s growing into this:
Thick-limbed bursting the bridge struts
Recalling every flower in the garden
Coring tossed apples
                from fifty feet
                            with his mother’s Chinese crossbow
900 years old and his voice still breaking
Jon Stone
(From Herbarium, a new poetry anthology. Launch and reading 22 July)

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