Potting Up the Peppermint
One drop of motor oil
rainbows on a puddle.
Limitless mileage
of mycelial felt tugs at roots.
Platters of map lichen spread
across the patient boulder.
Metastasis. Proliferation
screws up to war. Epidemics.
You’ve witnessed ignorance
stretch boundaries of hate.
When you yearn
for peace, cut sprigs
from the tub that tethers
run-away mint,
brew tea to tip
into a green cup,
pour love to all
gathered at your weary table.
Add honey as a river
flows to find the delta.
—
Tricia Knoll always has peppermint tea bags in the cupboard. She is a Vermont poet who grabs at any and every chance for peaceful mind, peaceful heart.
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