grey for flowers

 By Erin Shields

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in my dream i was a
scholarship girl wearing
a perfume of tulip smoke
and pale glories and heart.
i drank boiling coffee
and thick grace and
liquid inspiration from a
thermos of moroccan pink.

out in the garden was a
circle of tea lights and a comb.
why a comb? i kept thinking this.

time turned me into a
house of hydrangea wearing
a heather hued honour ribbon
and velvet confetti and a bird —
a pulse that i could touch.
i soon lost interest in the comb
and in questions and, for the first
time, i dreamt without wanting.

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Erin Shields is a poet on the mountain. She is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at West Virginia University, where she also teaches first-year composition. Her poetry lives in The Hemlock Journal, Tough Poets Review, The Michigan City Review of Books, and others. @erinlshields