Awareness
The grass is overgrown in the garden-
creeping up to six feet high,
the blades and I, eye to eye
all of us reaching for the sky.
It’s been awhile since I’ve been home.
No black-eyed-susan to check-in with;
Her season long over, and her visions too-
I hope she forgives me for what I missed.
Dead dogs in the dirt, six feet under
mounds of ground stacked all around
the decaying bodies, I can’t bare to look:
they’re not truly there anymore.
Damn my mind. I can’t grasp that.
I will never fully grasp what’s been lost
as the cycle and seasons keep on-
There’s a slither under my boot.
A small black snake, seeking a patch of sun
Coiled, now disturbed, in her own home.
Inspired by:
This poem was inspired by Emily Dickinson's "Hope is the Thing With Feathers" (c. 1861) along with "I Felt a Funeral in my Brain" (c. 1861)- particularly with how her work calls upon the garden and grapples with death. I feel that the unkempt garden is a great metaphor for growth- how messy it can look from the outside, but how ultimately rewarding it can be down the line.