Peckover House

by Leila Lois

​’...the very springs, the very orchards here were calling for you.’ 
-Virgil's Eclogues, Part I

Amaryllis lean to sun, burst
stars of sparkling pink,
crimson veins; blood

upon marble. Naked ladies
with glossy stems, bright
and bare, sit aflame

in the orangery, sweet,
citrus jasmine scent of mock
-orange on the wind.

In a vat, I could squeeze
petals for days, only
to extract a tiny drop

press it on my wrists
and behind my ears or drip
amaryllis oil into my eyes,

dilate pupils like night
stretches across sky, unfolds
its dark shroud, my crimson gown.

I could see you everywhere;
sundial shadow, moving swing,
a fallen book, broken spine on red tiles

An underground spring bled
up through stone, leaked into cold
-room where we stored meat.

By the wall, yew, dark lover,
above where pets were archived
in tiny plots: Tabby, Ginger, Lulu.

Lilies all weighed down,
turned away. Life is an empty
urn without you.

Leila Lois is a dancer and writer of Kurdish and Celtic heritage who has lived most of her life in Aotearoa, based now in Naarm/ Melbourne. In her poems, Leila explores a personal sense of origin that, like the ocean, binds several landscapes and times, coming back to the idea that a timeless, boundless love pervades. Her publishing history includes Southerly Journal, Djed Press, NoD Literary Journal, Next in Colour, Lite Lit One, Bent Street Journal and Delving into Dance.