You could have a big dipper   

Grounding Lavender by Elisa Rowe






Wrap a scarf like

kneading dough, pool

a little lavender to graze

my cheek.


My body, a slipping

finger on a piano. My

body, trembling into tune.


I want to be soft like

belonging. I want

my neurons to fire a

country into memory.


Routine is like a house on

feathers. Neurodivergence,

equally nebulous, like rocking

planes and clicks of

language.


Take this shimmering fact about

rabbits: when mothers give

birth they call it kindling.

Soft things, born in

cracklings.


Today I will fold this

woven thing to breathe

what is left of flowers,

whispering lavender,

lavender, crackling,

crackling.



Elisa Rowe (Crawley) (she/her) is a neurodivergent immigrant, writer, educator, and poet. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in: Michigan Quarterly Review, SAND Journal, the International Women's Writing Guild's anthology Heels into the Soil: Stories and Poems Resisting the Silence and elsewhere. You can find her posting cat pictures on Twitter @elisacwrites or check out her website at elisarowe.com


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