Wild garlic

That which grows freely

and is overlooked for me to take.

Mother, lover,

my friend in the grass,

under the willow,

by the creek.

Can I be an egg in your pantry?

We meet illegally in the park

and once we tore each other apart.

I tried to pot you,

now I live like a ranger,

enjoy everything under the sun

but will not disturb one thing.

Instead I wring dry moments,

become different in them each time,

what shapes I make with fallen petals.

When I close the door behind me

the world dematerialises and I lie

faceless and gelatinous,

breath shallow.

You, textured and bejewelled,

surface where babies crawl,

grew straight out of the dirt,

this herb is a cloth to you,

each night you sew a different dress.

You are my place on the inside

of the rattling window

and the one I roll with

under the hedgerow.

Despite all noise

there is only one choice.

As I tend to my mundanity

I think of you out there

and am able to continue.

Writing by SETAREH EBRAHIMI

Artwork by LAURA JONES