The bereaved Gardener
Etching names into stone
Your face like clay, brown and firm
Two 0 One 9
It's so hard to fall upward
Failing to find myself in the storm
and I think it so cruel
dipping the doll's head in wax
a chipped tooth, a weepy eye
A boring into the earth
the carcass of an oak
limbs strewn about a sea of grass
I've been silent about my intentions
Seeding the soil with lies,
lies, lies, lies, lies, lies...
But worry not-
The sunflowers sprouting from
my chest will still turn in open conversation
The headstone dressed in moss will
speak my name in silent tongues
and I'll watch over you
a promise, this time
No comments:
Post a Comment