A Name

Each blade of grass whispers to the other.  The name was ether borne. G held it. ‘Iolanthe’ he said one morning and I cocked my head. I didn’t know this word.  She was waiting in the studio naked.

Spell it.  I-O-L-A-N-T-H-E

Why did you say this. G, ‘Gilbert & Sullivan, the music’. It’s her name.


Iolanthe, Iolanthe, Iolanthe. She perks up.

I have delphiniums blooming in my garden dropped from a bird.  I stay open around Iolanthe. She floats her words like a bothersome mosquito. I find her asleep in a pile of silk. At night I dream her clothes.


Have I sewn a small thought out of linen. She has no bones, no wings. I want to leave her sleeping and forget all this. I could be propping up delphinium spears and drinking tea.

The garden is full of rabbits. I run and get G and they disappear. So I hold on to the hem of  this thought and get busy.


Iolanthe, I whisper, you are the seed the wind carried in my mind and left in the earth to germinate.


But why rabbit ears………….



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