Two Poems by Sarah Flint

Chewing the Bladderwrack

Samphire, she said, is green and good
and tastes of the mud reek creeks of the marsh
where oyster catchers call in dusk's pall.

But, she said, brown bladderwrack is better
infused with iodine and ozone from the sea's soul
and plucked from the tide's fingers as it falls.
It has the flavour of shells, pounded shingle and krill.



Perfume

I will make a box.
A box that comes from the dirt,
that is molded by crackling frost and parching sun
and that smells of wet soil after rain.

I will make my box from
the bark of Eucalyptus
with a lid of quilted hosta.
It will be lined with satin magnolia
and have hinges of antirrhinum.

I will embellish my box with
the eye of viola
the tooth of sumach
the claw of pyracantha and
the tongue of digitalis

I will put in my box
a drop of the blood of euphorbia
the heartbeat of helianthus
the sigh of gypsophila and
the breath of Daphne

I will keep the box in a dark and cool place
for several weeks until
it rots and withers away
And then I shall press it between my hands
until the sap runs
and from this liquid
I will make a perfume that only I understand.



Sarah Flint loves to get soil under her nails, twigs in her hair and to put interesting words in an interesting order.  She has had some of her more poetic word combinations published online.