Wild Greens Found Poem
Wild Greens Found Poem
Wild Greens Found Poem
found poem, from titles in the Wild Greens archive
by Crystal Rivera
What they won’t sayspirited away in wild greens and wild numbers.America the—faded. America the kettle’s uncontrollable rage. America the—Not here to meet you. Herefor the snacks.
What they won’t say of imagined future, the tender spots, I’ll say
Where there is peace or rage, be anything. Morning’s brew. Flour. Water. Heat. Foodfor fruiting bodies. The thing withfeathers, the thing withsalt. What theywon’t say, I’ll say
Be gentle instructions for finding concrete in bloom. I wasmarigold love learning sunflowers.From where I grew, wild with gratitude, another love followed.You—Little bud big bloom in a vacant room of dandelions. Go boy go.A lil love long goes a long way. Take me fragile, take me simple, take me with you.
Sitting still in the bone is aremembering you do-over.
What they won’t say, we need.Handle with care.The root of pure love is
Wild again. Home again. Take me takeme take you.
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Featured in our August 2023 issue, "Ekphrasis"