the sapphic flower

“Sing to us the one with violets in her lap” - Sappho

I’ve been fascinated by the concept of violets as a sapphic symbol for almost as long as I’ve known I was queer. If you aren’t already aware, this association was born from Sappho - an Ancient Greek poet whose birthplace, Lesbos, was the inspiration for my favourite word: lesbian. Of course, Sappho’s name is what gave us our label “sapphic”, used as an umbrella term for women who are attracted to women, and being inclusive of non-binary identities as well. Sappho wrote about yearning for women, and this was often accompanied by beloved violets.

Fragments of her poetry have fortunately survived, allowing us to connect with her beautiful writing, and with that, sapphic history. Especially during the early 20th century, violets acted as a subtle code between sapphics. The 1926 play The Captive featured them being sent from a woman, to a woman.

In my mind, violets encapsulate the soul of sapphic identity. When you grow up hearing that lesbianism and bisexuality are bad and ugly, the discovery that your identity can be compared to the gracefulness of a flower, especially as a 16 year old girl, heals some of the internalised homophobia that’s lodged inside you. It helps you see your sexuality in a new, purple light. I also love how being sapphic and using violets as our core symbol creates a bridge between all queer women regardless of labels, and enables us to express community together.

Violets aren’t the only flower associated with queerness either - lavender, and green carnations (thank you Oscar Wilde) have deep significance too.

A few days ago, on a ferry to a Thai island when my data had run out, my notes app led me to write a poem, and I’d like to share it here:

maybe i’m a violet

less showy than others

blooming in your garden

quietly asking for care

and tending.

maybe i’m a violet

purple mistaken for blue

not wilting or broken

just aware

and yearning.

i’d like to be a violet

fragrant - elegant

growing underground

signalling softly

sat safely in sappho’s lap.

“violets spread everywhere,

especially when they’re happy.”

maybe i’m a violet

planted with others

of every size, colour

heart-shaped leaves

prove there’s too much love

to fit inside our stems.

together we form crowns

we’re pinned to clothes

we’re proud tattoos.

rich in numbers

and rich in joy

with no desire

to be daisies.

violets are enough as they are.

And you know what, we really are enough as we are. These days, Pride month feels increasingly tainted - by rainbow capitalism, by soulless gestures. This year feels exceptionally disappointing because in many parts of the world, including in the UK where I’m from, LGBTQ+ rights are going backwards. Pride has never been just a party, it’s always been a protest, but the issues currently faced by queer people make it harder to bear the pinkwashing.

At the heart of Pride though, a fight persists, as well as a defiant celebration that we exist, and we’re not ashamed - we’re enough and we shouldn’t have to change to fit into your standards, or bloody toilets. I used to feel shame - I used to long to be a daisy. But now?

I wouldn't want to be anything but a violet. Proudly so.