I’m really pleased to be able to share a poem by Scottish poet, Marion McCready, first published in Paris Lit Up Magazine in 2015. Marion’s collection ‘Tree Language’ won the 2013 Melita Hume Prize, awarded by Eyewear Publishing. You can purchase it here.
Rose Hips and Thistles
It’s been a long Indian summer
and the hips are rotting on the beach rose.
I can almost taste their sour skins –
red balls of seeds glistening
like fiery cauldrons in the late September sun;
green tentacles dripping below.
I’m dreaming of exotic gentians,
But it’s the last of the flowering thistles
that stand before me
with their decadent helmets and feathers.
I think of Ellen Willmott
secretly scattering thistle seeds
in her neighbours’ gardens,
spreading pieces of herself – a legacy, to grow
and grow again when her body
is lowered to feed the earth
in a last great act of love.
Marion McCready lives in Argyll. Her poetry collection, Tree Language , was published by Eyewear Publishing (2014). She has a sequence of poems titled ‘The Birth Garden’ in Our Real Red Selves (Vagabond Voices, 2015).