After “Garden Variety” 

 

epiphany. do those words mean anything to you? see, these hands are cursed with clinging too tightly to things long passed. you came to me in a paralyzed dream & danced in your yellow sundress & i tried in vain to dispel this uncanny apparition. at your funeral, the crows circled above us nonstop like warplanes. i hated the frailty of you. the line between us & infinity became parallel & you lived only when i closed my eyes. these hands are withered & my eyes still dart round the house chasing what seems to be ghosts of us. the illegal plant in our living room killed itself by bending away from the light; just like you, it hated the sun. as we made a straight line away from your grave, i pocket sand & gave it a new home. so on sun-shy mornings, i lie on the ground & listen to your chatter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Hikmet on Unsplash