Eating Wild Violets for Breakfast

After the feast of Brigid

these were left,

some in the glass flower vase

we set on the altar before her,

the rest in a box in the fridge

on a sheet of wet white tissue paper.

‘You can eat them!’ said one

who had gathered them for us,

her smile lighting her face.

 

It is three days later,

but they kept.

I pick up a few, singly,

and place them in turn on my tongue.

Surprisingly, they don’t melt.

I must chew the tiny petals.

Then I scatter them all

on my morning cereal, and eat.

My senses open to Faerie.

I am at once ethereal

and rooted in earth;

more decadent

than Marie Antionette,

yet innocent as a wisp of air

breathed from a baby’s lips.

I thank the Goddess for sharing,

and open my mouth

to speak beauty.

Linked to Poets United's Midweek Motif: Beauty

This poem also appears in Sherry's Poets United feature: A Chat With Rosemary Nissen-Wade ~ On Poetry and Witchcraft.