Cannabis Psalm
Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it
And whispers, ‘Grow, grow.’
The Talmud

After the snowmelt, the cracked bucket
by the potting shed, filled with last year’s dirt,
swelled in the spring heat. Two leaves
on a tender stem:  after a brutal winter —
in spite of it — reseeding.  Later that summer
she grows taller than you, bushes out,
a happy Indica, stalk as thick as a cat’s tail.
The hospital bracelet dangles
from your frail wrist as you reach
to rub her leaves, and I cannot
read the quiet map of your face.  Like you,
she is something that arches for the palm
of the sun, and while you sleep, slinks
under the medicine eye of the moon,
gathering her pharmacy.  We smoke the holy
kola buds over the devouring
tumors of your blackened body,
an unspoken acceptance hanging
in the perfumed air.  All I know is nothing
is a mistake in this world, that she is something.

Lauren Tivey

If you have any comments on this poem, Lauren Tivey would be pleased to hear them.