Pulmonaria

Pulmonaria


Pulmonaria

 

That modest shrub has come up again in the garden,

over in a damp corner by the shed. It’s the one with

the toadskin leaves shaped like tiny maps of Florida,

somewhere he’s pretty sure they never went to.

He remembers it now, but not how it got there, the shrub

that is; its name he thinks he probably never knew.

It must’ve been something his wife planted, years ago,

before the business with her knees, before those shadows

appeared that the doctor had to point out to him twice,

using the tip of his hornet-striped pencil, though she

saw them immediately, recognising them like old friends

she was meeting from a train just pulled into a station

on a warm afternoon, whose faces hadn’t changed a bit.

 

 

first published in Whale Road Review, issue 6, spring 2017

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