Author: Laura Scott

The thistle sneaks up on me, a spike through my thoughts

prickling tears, during your favourite film Braveheart.

The thistle bruised, laid on top of your coffin

became a keepsake, bereft in a box.

The thistle haunts, I turn around and it’s on stage

framed, alive, very much in my face.

A grab by the lapels of where you once wore

the thistle with pride while taking our vows.  

The thistle in the garden, survives the surge of the storm

and roots regrow into the depths of your ashes.

The thistle stirs and whispers praise through the wind,

sweet and potent; your musky scent.

The patriotic tattoo, I no longer get to see,

the thistle pierces, I plead on my knees.

Laura Scott lives near Glasgow and she is currently studying part-time in her final year of a Creative Writing degree with the Open University. She was widowed in 2018 which sparked her creative writing journey as she began journalling and experimenting with poetry to help cope with her grief. You can read more of her work here.