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Editor’s note: The detailed recipe. The anger. The boiling. The crows. We couldn't resist this one. Enjoy!
Queen's Wreath will tickle the shoulders
Of your fences.
Cut it on the walk you take
Before everyone is awake
Couple sprigs should do,
The wilting limbs will be enough
2 cups of rain water on the stove
In the pot you got in your parents’ divorce
Boil the water and toss in the flowers
Half expecting they will float away
The whole kitchen will fill up
With the smell of blossoms and Spring
Don’t let it seduce you, it’s not yours.
Cover the pot and lower the heat
Let simmer for 20 minutes
The simmer is important
Hot as anger, sweet as panting Summer
The sugar will burn, it’s the finicky part
Add a cup if you’re Southern, half if you aren’t
Stir slowly until dissolved,
Granules washed away by boiling sea
He is never coming back,
the crows that speak his voice;
they are of your own making
Know your fucking power,
Even if it means taking.
Leave overnight in the fridge
Let the ice crust on the pasta jar you’ve used
And washed with water and soap and vinegar
When you pour it in what you’re drinking
You’ll hear him scream
Real this time, not 5 crows on the laundry line
Not in your head
You drink anyway. Deep. To the dregs.
Lauren Parker is a writer and visual artist based in Oakland. She’s a graduate of Hiram College’s Creative Writing program and has written for The Toast, The Bold Italic, Daily Xtra, and Autostraddle.
Image: Jorge Salvador.