A Poem by Leah Hughes

Lucy Honeychurch in the Violets

Stepping into pools unaware,
your neck and jaw are tinted lavender
like some pansy whose lower petals
are deeper than the three yellow crowning her face.
Reflecting violets,
you smell like spring rain.
Your feet are purpled.
Have you been playing in grapes,
making wine and all day drinking the dark juice?
Though your shoes are disguised as violets
take them off.
The flowers will wind about in your coffee-colored hair:
the wind is all ready blowing strands
braiding pieces weaving purple in brown.
Raise your arms and see where the water marks your body,
this purple pool of violets.
Everything about you swims.
I advise you to float, my daughter,
for violets are not always fragile or dangerous
or fragrant or painless.

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About Leah Hughes

Leah Miranda Hughes was born a Southern poet in Dalton, GA.  While her hometown thought it best that she move to Atlanta, they allow her to visit.  She puts her shoes on to cross the Mason-Dixon Line. She earned degrees in English and American Literature from Oglethorpe University and Georgia State, and an MFA from Queens University, Charlotte.  Teaching jobs provide funding for her ink and paper habit.