Clover Flowers

there was a day
when the bay area mist parted
and through the haze
i saw the tips of your shadow moving
ever so slowly
as seasons changed
and a new tide broke high
against the raging waters,
peaks of white dancing as tall
as the top of my hill.
and i remember
how you pressed your lips against mine, pulled back and freed them
a thick M set open to the world
letting loose oxygen into atmosphere
and precious carbon dioxide in
how you let insects nest in my calyx
only to pick the skulls out
so you could store them in the back-most chamber of your unsteady heart
tender cartilage not cared for in your rough, swirling qualms
how you hooked your hands in my roots and pulled
to let them settle in soil too dry for a delicate plant
and how, when you left
the permafrost set atop the greener grounds
the haze set in again
and all i could think about
was how you told me
that clover flowers taste like watermelon rinds.


Emma Banks is a 21st century 15 yr. old who believes she should have been born in the sixties. This is quite evident by the fact that she carries around a 60's style cat basket, listens to music via record player, and writes her poetry first drafts with a typewriter. She currently attends Appomattox Regional Governor's School for the Arts and Technology, where she is a Literary Arts major.