Adamah – a poem by Hannah Yerington

Adamah 

In the garden, the squirrels pull up fat bulbs from the ground,
their fur cheeks full of tulip flesh,

I wash the sap from creases of our skin,
spoon you violet syrup from the petals we picked,

I knew your baby arms before they could hold pinecones, 
fingers open like saplings,

cherry tomatoes, plump with thick sun,
each heirloom plant as inheritance,

We watch the carousel of spring birds,
a feather fever dream of starlings,

and I hold our words with the cardinals of my tongue,
my prayers always returning, 
to nest in the greenhouse of our limbs.

Hannah Yerington is a poet, a Jewish Arts educator, and the director of the Bolinas Poetry Camp for Girls. Her work has been published in Nixes Mates, Alma, and Olney, among others. She is an MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University. She writes about many things including talking flowers, post-memory, and the occasional seal. 

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