I slip off my shoes
To feel the soft
Tangled grass
Under my feet
As I walk in summer fields.
Purple blooms
Stand on slender stems
All around me.
The powdery scent of lavender
Drifts in the wind.
The same scent of lavender scented sachets
That my mother kept
Among her linens.
A reminder and an unspoken promise
Of sweet,
Serenity.
By J..Hamilton
You and I are similar in many ways.
I collect leaves
Then store them between the pages of a book
To remind me of fall walks
And the oxygenation of leaves and how their colours deepen,
Becoming red
Like wine
Then fade in time.
You collect flowers
On your walks.
They are mementos of poetic moments.
Treasures that dry on your window sills, on a book lined shelf
On your pine bench
Next to your satin ballet shoes.
Yours are everywhere
Really.
Constantly reminding you of
Where you have been
Within the fields from which these flowers have grown..
My leaves are inside the pages of books,
Tucked inside a papered time capsule.
Both of us
Are collectors
Of moments
And seasons
Of
Flowers
And leaves.
By J. Hamilton
In a vase, an arrangement of flowers sit
Drinking from the same water.
A mix of rosy snapdragons, fluted irises,
Butter coloured tulips, open faced, toward the sun,
And mustard, black-eyed Susan’s, sitting on long stalks of green, unbending.
These flowers are unlikely relatives
Spanning seasons
Standing together in
a gold handled
Vase.
This is how you would choose your children.
Different
Basking in their own uniqueness
Yet sharing the same light.
J..Hamilton
Le cose piu belle (the most beautiful things) 