Walking the streets I saw from your shoulders in childhood,
I remember the important places; I cross them with my feet.
The line where the stag beetle trundled before us, gleaming.
The patch on the road that held one squashed frog,
sun-dried to leather. How sad I was.
I respectfully avoid the lords and ladies,
their berries ripe with poison, bright as laughing eyes.
I no longer avoid the stings of nettles, knowing how
their acid heals arthritis. That information gathered recently,
and stored up for my future; towards an age you never reached.
Foraging
Liz Kendall is co-author of Meet Us and Eat Us: Food plants from around the world, which celebrates biodiversity in poetry, prose, and fine art photography. Her poetry is published by The Hedgehog Poetry Press, Candlestick Press, Mslexia, Thimble Lit Mag, and Amethyst Review. Visit theedgeofthewoods.uk, @rowansarered on Twitter/Facebook, and @meetusandeatus on Instagram.