Remember how I brought those plants
down from the city
perched in the front seat of a hire car
which you had to drive?
The road cleaving ancient earthworks.
crinkling on distant sea water.
The car loaded up so high
we left your copy of Das Kapital
by the side of the road.
When I tell this story, I imagine myself
as a prehistoric hunter
following salt lines, divining weather
from the leaves of rosemary and sage.
Or William Blake in Felpham:
‘A piece of seaweed serves
for a barometer,
and gets wet and dry as the weather gets so.’
If only poetry could unmake the world,
correct our futures, our past.
Perhaps I should have read
the road ahead, the touch
of your fingers on the steering wheel,
those old doubts. Instead, I dreamed
about the prophecies of herbs.
They were seedlings, it was a shame to lose them.
Daniel Bennett was born in Shropshire and lives and works in London. His poems have been published in numerous places, including Atrium, Eye Flash Poetry Journal, and Under the Radar. His chapbook Arboreal Days is published by Red Ceilings Press.