Two Gardeners

A love affair,
Skewed.
Your ghost rides
The passenger seat,
Repeats the words
I love to hear,
Watching as daily
She strikes
And replaces scenery.

And like us,
Geese are on the move –
45 degrees.
Who could shut out
A November rain?
But hand over that flask —
I’m feeling reckless,
And there’s this cough to cure.

It’s the killing time between
That winds me up,
Wears me out.
And all your battered hymns
And songs of loss
Resound down to the marrow.
My bones grow hollow
’Til I feel I could fly.
A wrong removed,
And I hardly care.
Let’s turn back the clock.

So come on, now,
Into the soft and warm,
And bring that bottle –-
Here’s a winter picnic —
The feast where two rivers join.
One hand on my neck,
Place pomegranate seeds
On my tongue.
An arched brow –
Tart, taut.

Keep the windows open,
Even just a crack.
Those birds out there
Still have something to say,
And I’m burning up
Like wildfire.
Lean on in now –
We can dream about
The garden gone to bed,
Until the time comes
To sharpen our tools
And nourish soil with sweat.
For now, love,
We have other seeds to plant.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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