Medicine in the Thorns

The willow leans heavy over the lake,  

leaves whisper secrets to the water’s edge.  

A snake weaves silently through the reeds,  

its body gliding like silk unraveling.  

The berry that stains our fingers red,  

sweet on one bush, bitter on another.  

You learn this young: how to taste  

and how to spit out survival.  

Nature doesn’t discriminate, doesn’t blink,  

offering the cure and the curse together.  

The bee hums lullabies into the rose,  

but the sting waits beneath its beauty.  

Fire keeps you warm, erases the frost,  

yet one crack too many, and it bites.  

Even the ocean, that sprawling salvation,  

will teach drowning faster than forgiveness.  

We scoop the honey and dodge the teeth,  

press ourselves against sunlight knowing  

the shadow keeps chasing closeness, too.  

What heals might also undo us, tenderly.