The stinging nettles in my kitchen

Written By Rosie Clay

The stinging nettles in my kitchen

Are a reminder that painful things can grow if left untouched

The coldness of domesticity sings

As the sting of the steel knives in the cutlery drawer rattle like my nerves as I examine how many steps it would take to kill an intruder.

A weed killer by any other name, my hands are around his stem, and I pull.

I awaken from another fantasy to see the stinging nettles in my kitchen have grown three more leaves. Do I wait until it stings me to evict? Do I honour the life within the green and carefully place my movements around the pain?

The stinging nettles in my kitchen, might be the only thing that reminds me of you now. Medicine by another name if handled properly.

Rosie Clay
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