In the Garden

You’re a woman in the garden 

entwined in the ravine 

of grape leaves.

You become one with the plants

No, not like Inferno*, where

you have no agency to speak, 

except if someone plucks at one

of your spines.

You get to speak and talk about

whatever you want, with whoever you want.

At any time.

You keep sight of your sensibilities,

your feet tickled by the grass

and the soft earth beneath you, they have

been nourished by the rain, the soil

moist with water and rich

with composte. Your skin

reflects the light of the sun, 

warming you all over. 

You’re there, setting up your boundaries, 

rooted, yet aware of the curved earth far

into the horizon, and of the lamp post

at the end of your street

by the mailbox, illuminating

the pliable nest of your life,

vivid and nurturing.

*Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321, Anthony M. Esolen and Gustave Doré, The Inferno. New York, Modern Library, 2002.

A Johnson

Photo by A Johnson

Inspired by:

Kyo Maclear, Unearthing

Inspired by:

Julie Simmons