close
Creative

Crocus Soils

Words by Zoë Porter-Parsons

 

Purple trumpets signal 

to the breeze,  

sounding their spring 

arrival 

shamelessly

petals unfurl,

presenting themselves 

and their precious cargo 

to the world

regal goblets

overflow

women’s skirts defy 

gravity, flowers defy 

natural laws

    & suddenly a 

Venetian vase shatters,

 

tossed from a high 

window it 

splinters

on the path ahead

 

Saffron and spice and

everything nice, 

flowers seem to 

chirrup

from stigmas

saffron is birthed 

a golden sun against 

a violet sky

nectar dripping in 

tranquillity or

disquiet?

 

Sailing in a sea of 

prestige and fortune 

East Indies to 

Terra nullius 

roots displace thousand-

year-old soil

the native usurped, 

motherlands toil 

vessels perpetuate screams,

unheard below deck,

screams 

unheard below earth,

flower beds left 

in their wake

We stop to smell 

roses

yet do not look

beneath,

too entranced by 

the fair and fragrant

we prick thumbs on

thorns, 

freckling in the 

scorched sun,

blood drops

mingling with the 

flesh and sweat that 

fertilised this earth,

this dirt, 

from which the crocus

emanates and 

grows beautifully – 

saffron, aubergine, the papers 

in parliament, 

all grow from this

same soil. 

 

Zoe Porter-Parson

The author Zoe Porter-Parson

Leave a Response