Pink crown on a globe of thorns on a stem of spines.
Smooth threads, like corn-silk, the burst top of choke
that stuns without a sound—sudden color
on a slow day, working its way outward.
Sentinel of the overgrown footpath.
Trader of sun, indifferent to sparse shelter
of bay laurel, eucalyptus, and madrone.
Scattered kin of artichoke, of wild stars
whose signature is borne across our skin.
We touch them, dry or just opened, nodding
with the weight of bees. Each fattened calyx
a promise of surprise when we open
to stories in the ungroomed underbrush,
to the sweet aftertaste of soft leaf-flesh.
This poem first appeared in A Different Physics (Red Mountain Press, 2018).
—
Lisa Rosenberg is the author of A Different Physics, winner of the 2024 American Legacy Book Award for Poetry. A former space program engineer trained as a physicist, her writing spans poetry, multidisciplinary essays, and satire. Her work has been recognized by a Djerassi Leonardo Residency, Wallace Stegner Fellowship, and MOSAIC America Fellowship. She served as Poet Laureate of San Mateo County, California, and is a frequent speaker on the confluence of arts and sciences.
