Botanical

Crinum Americanum L., by Alex Popovkin, Bahia, Brazil

I think about those people of mine, those who sewed
uncut gemstones into their hems as trader’s insurance,
those who went with slaves and brocade and sharp steel,
who brought back silk and aloes, those whose names I’ll
never know. Did the needle of loneliness prick them as they
embroidered their tales? Did it prick the way it does me, as
I stitch myself to a place by way of the names of flowers?