cultivars

Shane Schick

A couple of wineries later,
we found the lavender farm,

which began with a boutique
filled with oils, soaps, teas, 

vinegars, salts, sugars and
enough candles for a church.

One expected the aroma, 
but it resisted asserting itself,

like an artist hanging back to let 
the paintings speak for themselves.

I held an eye pillow in my palm,
and daydreamed of lavender sleep,

donned the forty dollar neck wrap,
but resisted the lavender choke. 

We eventually walked out back
and navigated the knot garden,

our sense of smell overtaking our sight
like it knew what was up ahead.

We found the two lone lawn chairs
and sat the edge of the purple fields,

and learning it takes them three years
to mature, our breathing slowed

down to keep pace with the plants,
and we held our hands across armrests

as though our palms hid a sachet
we had secreted from a dresser drawer

filled with linens we kept reserved 
for on occasion just like this.

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Shane Schick's most recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Analogies & Allegories, Gossamer Lit, Cardigan Press and more. He is the founder of a publication about customer experience design called 360 Magazine and lives in Toronto. More: shaneschick.com/poetry. Twitter: @shaneschick.

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