Angelina Ayers
Freya’s Evening Primrose
Some think the primrose
comes only in yellow.
Eggshell-blue is my favourite.
They speckle my lands
the army-fields of Asgard
so from my raven’s eye, the soil
is as much sky as the drag and thrust
strumming my wings.
This is where I bring my lovers
the chosen dead who cannot help
but want me.
Tonight I will take one
into the grassland, pluck
an evening primrose
from its root
and tell him how the nectaries
secrete in the gloaming.
The petals open.
The stamens stand erect,
golden, a royal crest or standard
fluttering its invitation.
This is the moment I love
when night flies cannot resist
the sweetness of the nectar.
Page(s) 78-79
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