Two poems by Finola Scott: ‘Garlic’ and ‘Rhubarb’
(Image: Olga Oginskaya)
In the iron-dark shop
piled with companions
it’s functional
mottled white on white waiting
contained wrapped in disguise
Beneath gauze veils folded
in parchment it parcels itself
cloaks taste holds secrets
a cupped palm’s width of flavour
home on my worktop it casts
wing-thin skins &
Rhubarb
waves its green
flag not surrender but
triumphal.
Bat-winged leaves umbrella
stalks red swollen with bitter
juices
I think
of Marco Polo scouring
Tangut for roots almost
half a millennium ago
of Ruy Gonzales de Clavijo
waiting bowel-bound in
Samarkand for these bundles
swaying camel backed along
the Silk Road, cargo more precious
than musk, opium or pearls
to run sour down my chin
in this Scottish plot,
not sugar coated or
forced for me.
published in Dactyl 2015
Finola Scott.
This section: stories and poems, Sweet or sharp summer stories and poems, writers
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