Where Bones and Breath Turn to Blossoms: Kristin Lisenby

April 2, 2020 Kate Belew with Kristin Lisenby (Azores, Portugal)

I sewed the garden outside of my window

And wondered if flowers feel the weight of the day

In the same way I do, weighted sun beam

Lucent with chance to nurse feral roots

There is nothing as beautiful as gnarled tendrils 

Weedy knots, weaving a path

and I follow, top of my head open toward 

the unfamiliar, a light that flickers from within

nettle, mugwort, rose, and 

mandrake—where bones and breath turn to blossoms

burgeoning forth like dye in water, unfurling.

I finally understand why Nature pens stories with invisible ink