the grower

it was spring and

my mind had withered to

hydrangea petals

all blue

twig fingers

scaling corners

of all the things

they could not touch.

 

i tried to say all

of where i’d been but

the earth pulled

at my elbows

and knees like

silk kite strings i

struggled to unravel

from around glass ankles.

 

taking flight was

a greenhouse pipe dream

i’d hidden in the

brightest pot

before i

placed petals where

my eyes used to be

and one behind my ear.

 

let them come, i thought

the grieving

chrysanthemums

might make

them think

of me

struggling to grow myself

somewhere out there.

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3 Comments

Filed under Writing

3 responses to “the grower

  1. Lovely and moving poem! 🙂

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