Candied Violets (Last Lesson)

Wizened palm pressed
violet confection into young fingers
damp from tears.

“Taste, then understand,”
the crone whispered.

Apprentice tasted
spring rains on her skin,
rich loam through her toes,
before feeling blossoms torn,
scorched stiff by oven,
and finally melting on tongue.

“Don’t let your bitter steal your sweet,”
apprentice said.

Crone nodded, then slept.




This poem was created for the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Fireblossom Friday: I Put A Spell on You. It is also linked to Verse Escape's Friday 55.

Look Alike

The tree would only speak when the sun was at just the right angle to see the face woven into its gnarled bark. Mira waited until she saw into its eyes clearly to ask, “Why can I ask questions only now?”


“It’s when the light makes you look most like a tree,” the oak said.


This poem was created as part of the Flash 55 for Verse Escape.