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Bouquet Garni

by Jose Oseguera

Echinacea, patchouli, and sage:
Flower bomb diffused
From the porous braids of your straw hat,
Bouncing sun drops as we walked.

It was windy,
The pompadour sitting on my head —
A crow roosting, flapping its wings
Ready to fly into forces uncaring
Of her exposed nest:
Blue twine, twigs, twisted ticket stubs
To Air Supply’s reunion tour at the Saban Theatre in Beverly Hills;
Carrying the yoke on her empty bones
Of the eggs, once whole, warm under her,
Cracked muddy scum
Yellow on the…

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