Mother Dear, never apologize for nettles
I yanked in fury
from Lottie Shoop’s side yard — 
they stung me into seeing
fairy mosses lilypad
her middened juniper,
the quivering gobble of her chin,
teacup clicking dentures as she sprang
up into her wattle hut
and broke a rib
of aloe vera — 
gel belling the top of that claw goblet.
It didn’t cool the sting, and yet, noticing
sunshine thumbing plums in a string
catch-all — 
I was already well.

Source: Poetry April 2017

Danielle Chapman

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