Echinacea

A poem by Jennifer Houle

Going the furious pink
that bleeds into the cooling bay
from autumnal horizons,
elegizing an entire summer's worth
of warmth and color

clustering in fey mauves
beneath the heavy
and foreboding spires
of burgundy-pricked ambers

daisy-like enough to be looked over
and not seen, prim,

harbor-flower, infinitely
competent, administrator's fetch

in dusky splendor, I
am like you, reoccurring
and defensive, and I know
the love it takes

to keep such vast
quantities of cure
in unsung roots
despite the heat.