The primary school I went to,

its name was Clover.

So of course I’d find patches

in the far left corner. (of the oval field on the right)

Sometimes after school, I’d waltz on over,

if I had a friend, I’d bring her and show her.

There we’d lay -and if we go, we must-

staring up into clear skies,

air getting frosty for the sake of dusk.

Nevertheless, I’d always feel the urge to cry

Once into the vast clovers, I sunk.

Twice, sipping honeysuckle from the vine. 

(No one told me otherwise)

I have considered the trefoil,

it seems they’ve gotten small;

The ones who cradled my bones toil

But now the weeds are tired in all.

Hold me up again, let me be spoilt,

don’t let me rot away, a carcass left mauled.

Somedays I wish I were tiny like a plum.

Not in an insignificant way,

but to make my clovers less cumbersome. 

To not take up as much space- I weigh myself astray,

and maybe if I were so fragile I’d be more loved once.

Only to look, around the clover-lined path I sway

(And pick, for I stuck one in my scrapbook to botanize)

I feel like I've grown so old, 

though I don’t remember any of it

But at the same time, I felt every moment of it

I've felt my skin stretch around my bones

the teeth that have been replaced

Have I become something else entirely? 

Mother, am I still yours? 

Can I still be tender and warm 

Will you swallow me whole and 

keep me away from the world?

I wouldn’t be a burden, I promise I’d be good

I’d let you love me however you please, please

My clover crowns are my legacy, 

The children’s laughter is the song I hum

There’s still milk and honey in my bloodstream

I want to be so small I have to be sought out

Like a four-leaf clover, to be seen, to be found

And I was easier to love, wasn’t I?

This year, I sang in the summer shower

Front yard sprouted sorry patches o’ sorrel

Present, a tiny present, I stand like a tower

Sorrel-shaped heart, bloomin’ frenzied floral

I decide, not me, I don’t cower, 

I let them brush across my sole and dorsal 

And to feel the dewy shamrocks underneath the shade of the trees,

made me remember that being loved comes with being perceived

I can spend all summer trying to be tiny,

But my growing soul n’ big heart will never shrink

And though I’ve grown too big for the clovers, unfortunately,

I can always still feel the living, breathing sweetness in me,

From the clover’s chlorophyll that seeped in slowly.