An Ode to Sage

Sometimes I meet you 

Sizzled in butter 

and served on 

The Christmas china 

Or slipping down my throat 

Marinating inside a pool of warmth 

But today, I greet you 

on a Thursday morning 

Grey air and expired skin 

So unlovely you sit 

in my closed fist 

An unlikely torch-flaring 

I hold you low and close 

My lips murmur weighted commands 

And faithfully you obey 

Unremarkable beauty 

I hold your breathless body 

in my desperate hand 

And aflame you soar 

Bowing at your cremation 

I shovel your ashes 

Inside my mouth 

Your remnants forming 

into clay down my throat 

As I wait for the pain 

to fall off my heart 

Yet, in your death 

My blood remains cold 

And I watch as you fall 

into my palm 

And onto the floor 

Georgia Beattie-Richards is a second year student studying a Bachelor of Arts at Massey University Manawatū. Like many English students, she has an immense appreciation for creative writing, and has taken time throughout her university career to craft her creative writing skills.