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The Garden Still Grows in Your Absence
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Go home—
the ladybirds are flying
into the fire—
your children
are eating the apricot of knowledge
in gulps—
there are silver bells
growing over the house eaves
and a straw-man is leering
in the ivy.
Go home—
they are alone and they have found
your treasure box—
they are looking
at your life
and laughing
with wolves’ tongues—
the apricot swells and
their eyes search for dim bedrooms—
their mouths are moist.
Go home—
Jill and Jack
are playing secret games
in the corn—
the children are ankle-deep in robins—
toes pricked red—
their throats choked with apricot muffin—
they breathe humidity
with mature smiles.
Go home—
the ladybirds are flying
into the fire your children
hold in their smudged palms—
they lick of apricot juice
sweated from their tender skin
and dream of fevers--
forget you
were ever there.
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Wow, really lovely imagery. Particularly 'ankle deep in robins'. It also seems to speak of deeply mixed emotions, to me. I hitched a little at the last two lines, though. It doesn't seem... attached, perhaps? Though it may be ostentatious to suggest, you might look at it 'forgetting you/were ever there' or 'they forget you/were ever there'. It's an incredibly beautiful piece, though, and just makes me yearn to go run barefoot somewhere out of doors.
