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Infected Garden
May 23, 2022
I am a rose who can rise no more
beneath your shadow. You are the sun’s rays
that slit the veins of my vines in half.
You are the wild winds that butcher my begonias
who once were perfectly shaped, now shrivel and break.
You cut my raspberries down to the root and blow away
each petal of my pansies. You are a thief
who takes each of my seeds for next season
till I have nothing left. I’m begging you,
don’t whack an ax at my willow. The one with hearts etched into it.
It is the last plant I have that hasn’t been overtaken
by your infected ivy.
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