Midsummer Collection
Punchy and romantic and heady. It is light cotton plaids, raw silk darkness and ruffled flitting eyelet flowers running and drifting in a midsummer still afternoon. Rest and feast.
Available August 8th at 9am pst.
Two birthdays and two homes
and a visit from a butterfly
that smelt of the sea
which we spent much time upon
and beneath
So we bequeath her with a crown
Dearest Cleaver Queen
green velcro gripping
burrs in blonde
halo of lymphatic refreshment
Swallowed
Swallowtail’s
texture of fine salted wings
or a limp viola of pale purple
licked clean of her pink icing
Papilionidae
-idae-
A family within
A day
-dies-
My diary
tries
to sculpt our July days
as a family
We’d sing a sea shanty if we knew any
But we settle with happy birthday plucked on a mandolin while the neighbour’s flute pines through the madronas
But that’s our old home with our old neighbours
And our new neighbours can be heard enjoying each other's company
Up and down the valley
We want to make good first impressions
but at night
on those nights
when our kids wail and fight
to sleep
they ask about my favourite day
which is to say
they ask about the best part of the day for me which becomes the best part for them
which is a moment I am proud of them, a moment we saw something beautiful, and a moment we felt love impressed upon us
And it’s vast and minute
A star
A fall
A white spider scurrying out from the dark blackberry just picked and winding it’s way down crescent moon nails before there’s chance to swallow it
In our pasture celebration
In the garden
In the evenings
In a poem so romantic I read it twice to take pleasure from it
A woman aches to become a cinnamon peeler’s wife
Or the cinnamon peeler aches to make this woman his wife
His hands so scented from his tender profession can’t be trusted against her skin
Perfumed so refused
Bemused
Twice
-twiges-
Exotic bark
Erotic tree
of life
Of satin ribbon wound round thorny twigs
Trussing up a rosehip
Don’t lay your hand upon her hip
Oh the scent
the scent
I smell raspberries so abandoned they’re drunk in the 5o’clock sun
Like me
Warm and plump and ripe
And my hands smell like the dill I pinched for dinner as they hold my wine glass
And wait for my stonemason to arrive
In the bed
In the home
On Mother’s Day
I tore out the buttercups that had grown up
below the red raspberry vines
and their
tiny
spiny
thorns drew blood in scratches from my wrists to my shoulders
It was the next day when my husband felt my torn up skin and asked what happened, that I replied
‘I’ve been tending my garden,
I’m a mother,
haven’t you noticed,
I’ve made things grow.’
I look at my babies,
a child,
their bodies,
our fruit
Would I recognize each individual limb?
Severed, would I know it?
My garden grew it
My own body grew it
In the dark, in the damp
Under the cover of a thicket of thorns.
So I tend to my garden children
and they tend to me.
Young verdurous buttercups
Warm wounded flesh
Forgotten about until felt,
And then reminded
Startled by the adoration of
perspiration tingling abrasions.
My boys watch me in the bathroom in the weeks following the birth of their sister
And they ask if I am still bloody.
‘Why bloody mum?’
‘Crack open mum?’
Yes I’ve cracked open. I’ve cracked wide open for you all, like every mother, our bodies formed a crevasse when you left
A devastation
I bled for you, because of you
My blood was your oxygen
and now I can’t keep you alive with a sigh
So instead I place my hands on your ribs and your hands on my cheeks and we breathe
‘I love you’s’
Until deep under my fingers
Deeper than your intercostals
Expanding
On your silly exhaled ‘you’
Your alveoli of rich red blood are fed.
Water me,
shower me,
Graze your hand along the top of my baby hairs like a tomato seedling in the greenhouse
Pretend to be the wind so I can withstand it all.
But if I must be torn from the ground
touch me tenderly,
exploratively
Hold me up under your chin
And I’ll remind you of the riches of a mothers butter
Buttercup Collection
Garments that were sewn in the summer sun, rich in buttery sun soaked silk, linen, and cotton. Photographed on a warm evening while walking through my neighbourhood woods and meadows.
Ready to Ship, and available online June 24th at 2pm pst.
Ready to clothe your bones.
Winter Meadow Collection
Available and Ready to Ship! Linen, silk, wool, and cotton in textures soft and thick. Plump reds, brambled greens, dark and warm and meant to hold you through midwinter’s crispness. A thorn prick of startling bright warmth in clothing form.
Seasonal Offering 6:
Petal Pusher Pants
Elastic waist straight leg pants, who’s hem unfurls into an ankle length peplum. Petal like a flopsy flower upside down, pedal like you’re on a bike pumping fast and your pants are tickling your gears and ankle bones. Perfect for all season legs, linen and silk, and cotton coated limbs.
Pre-Order opens November 12th at noon pst.
Seasonal Offering 5:
Plaines Blouse
A lament to the long rolling vastness of the plaines. Puffs and billows of cloud sleeves and gentle shapely horizons skimming your ribs and waist and back.
Pre-Order opens November 8th at noon pst.
Seasonal Offering 4:
The Polly
Blouses & Dresses, all straight lines and brightness. A deep v caught up in a bow between the breasts and soft gathers finding the side of the waist.
Polly is the star of the sea. all angular shine and lightness. Maybe a smouldering sight.
Pre-Order opens October 22nd at noon pst.
Seasonal Offering 3:
The Linnet
Linnet smock, named for its fluttering friend the linnet bird, lover of flax seeds and farmscapes.
I’d say they are very good friends.
The smock, like the bird, has a delicate freedom to it and craves the calm expanse of a field at dusk.
A linnet flits around and pecks lovingly at your flax smelling skin.
Pre-orders open October 9th at noon pst.
