drink me, he said, and I will show you the wild in your heart
and the gold of his hair and his eyes led me to the hill
where the hawthorn stood
and the hill opened and let me in, let me in to the wild

he pressed the wine to my lips, drink me, he said
and I drank

and the hawthorn pulled the blood from my veins
I didn’t feel the scratch of its thorns
’til the moon was high and the skin of my body was green

green as the ground that birthed me that night
green as the hill
and the clover, soft, that lined my bed
and the hawthorn watched
and he laughed, shook out his golden hair to the night

I am root and oak and willow
I am golden threads and white
and the red of my blood is the earth where I lie

he comes in the morning, and there are roses in my heart
their thorns have bled me like the hawthorn
I am cold as the dew on the may
on the hill

drink me, I said, and he drank

An unconventional artist, therapist and druid from the Welsh Marshes, Helen Smith can often be found wandering the woods, knitting small cats, or playing her flute to the stars. Her poetry is inspired by mythology, the relationship between people and nature, and the journey of initiation into our deeper selves. Her work has appeared in Moonchild Magazine, Touchstone (the monthly publication of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids), and local publications. Her first novel, based within the world of Finnish mythology, is well underway.

Artwork: Rob Woodcox, The Forest Overtakes
Website: http://robwoodcox.com/

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