I brought you flowers the rain is the face of a macadam// a moon before abandonment grows in the weeds my mourning garden shunning my hands in the absence of throat weeds; and my bones are my father’s, restless; sheltered a sad death in the thorns, my child, the cat does not know penance like you. A body’s destitution in the sun, the delirium in her as plant prostitution of the ladybugs bind/twist like a redolent heart I called her my garden just once the kind of dying that nobody wants that nobody stalks for, and I did not beg to make you Snow White as my father bedded dry soil, no I just wanted to disencumber your faces before I abandon you. You overslept rain I cannot outlive or love you as I am tired of each humiliation as your ghost rusts like madrigals, like father always said—to add another to keep them out but they danced in the spit of water to be my death to keep the roses. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the 7/13/2021 dVerse prompt where we write a poem about gardening, or something germane to it. I based this piece on reality as I recently had a little garden bowl of cacti and succulents that my cats went into.
Yes, they’re fond of cacti and apparently masochism. I personally believe they used the thorns to pick their teeth with.
My garden of death (or what it will be if I don’t plant the remaining ones outside soon), how fitting.
Also Happy 10th, dVerse. 🙂