Hunting Healing Herbs on James River Banks

Remote and awkward legs weak-wobble-walk.

Dear mistress cannot swallow or sit up,

Our voyage carved thin limbs, sallowed her face--

but herbs and roots will speed recovery.

My brother questions workers about springs

where rushing water spurts a growth of cures.

Distracted colonists continue on

until a man called Laydon stops to talk.

A carpenter, he searches timber sites.

He brags of watercress with rounded lobes;

then names a wondrous tree with magic bark.

And he keeps turning, turning toward me.

Just a layer herbs between the dampened moss,

just lower head and never look at him.

This sawer calls my name and I respond

to one who tries to tease me into smiles.

I focus on his face, his twitching ears.

I stand and stare him down but have to stop

befor a strangeness that I've never seen.

Green eyes hold visions of a form and face.

No lake or mirror shine such imagery.

This man reflects a me who turns around

to grasp my brother's arm and walk away.

All night I hear his laughter--in my dreams.

* In medieval times, girls were warned never to look into a man's eyes.  If you saw your reflection in his eyes, you were destined to marry him.

Patricia Flower Vermillion          2008

from Lady's Maid

Live Wire Press, Charlottesville , VA