Salvia, Reblooming

by Jennnifer Schomburg Kanke

Speak to me of love
      and I will speak to you
            of salvia bought on sale,

twenty-cents, an end
      of the season find. The man
            said bloomless shafts

weren’t worth the dirt.
      Forget to water,
            leave bare on chilly nights.

Speak to me of love
      and I will tell you of replanting
            in terracotta pots, good drainage,

of some protected spot,
      an alcove on the porch
            where the winds can’t reach.

Jennifer Schomburg Kanke is a doctoral candidate at Florida State University. Her work has appeared in Pleiades, Fugue and Earth’s Daughters. Previously, she served as an editor at Quarter After Eight and is currently the Poetry Editor for The Southeast Review.

How did you arrive at the title for this piece?

    Not in a very sexy way I’m afraid, it’s pretty much just a description of the narrative of the poem. Of course, if I’m feeling sassy I guess I could say “I asked it what its name was,” but that feels like a bit much.
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