Emmenagogue

to be held—to be held down by cold
air. light the candle, huddle.
to feel more solid than I really am.
full. burgeoning like a winter
bloom, freakish.

to find a smooth skipping stone
in the belly. to quench thirst
rain-sharp and sudden.
to bring the blood down pungent
yarrow

The nettles open their mouths to sing:

No need to wait for spring to heave one’s
great green body to the air. Our forked

roots rend the thawing earth, searching. We know
many forms of divination. We hear the birds,

the language of their flight-patterns.
The augury of redness, that quick dose

of pain. Snow, we drink its wide white field.
We tuck its sharpness in our hollows,

prepare for rain. Sigh down, sister. Bring us
your hitching breaths, gardens

of numbness. Let us darken your blood,
rest heavy in the cellar of the stomach.

Cut away the dead stems.
Make room in the mouth for the clearing.

*Note: This poem takes its title from a line of Sappho

jessamyn duckwall is a full-time poet and part-time sorcerer from rural Oregon. Their writing often incorporates aspects of plant sentience, folk herbalism, and traditional and found forms of divination. They are a 2025 Oregon Literary Arts Fellow, and they hold an MFA in poetry from Portland State University. Their work has appeared in Pile Press, Radar Poetry, Josephine Quarterly, and other publications.