Rosemary Is a Strange Thing

February 5th, 2012 | Meera

Rosemary is a strange thing. Who else would store perfume inside a needle? A strange thing, Rosemary. You cannot take her measure just by looking. Inside just one green spine resides a piney forest, all entire.

Rosemary booms in the dry and the rocky, grows moldy and limp if life gets too easy. Rosemary doesn’t want tending by you or by anyone.

Find her in the desert, where more tender things die. Let her drink only what blows in off the salty sea winds.

Rosemary

One Response to “Rosemary Is a Strange Thing”

  1. Anya Weber says:

    What a beautiful essay/poem, Meera!

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