Clover I want to bring so much to the place that I call sacred, rocks from the river and tumbled stone, woodruff and pine needles, grain and fruit for my offerings. I want to bring sweet red clover to please you, just as you said it would but I can find none in the city now. Maybe in the spring when the close wind palliates as best it can . this cruelty of metal, tar and concrete, I'll go out in the moonlight and find it, rebellious beside the freeway, defiant in the cracks of sidewalk, or quartered like an outlaw in the metropark. Perhaps then I can give us our own refuge in the solitary country, where with any luck at all the city will forsake us. There I will make you an altar that no one can violate, an altar of sweet red clover, an altar of stone.
A graduate of Ohio State University, Psyche North Torok is a lover of words, language, and nature. She often visits the Olentangy River and has been known to leave offerings at its banks. Her poems have appeared in Common Ground Review, Plainsongs, Avalon Literary Review,and various anthologies including Forgotten Women and Dead of Winter.