new growth

my heart was desolate, a
blasted wasteland where nothing
could grow, I
salted the earth and pulled up
every flower – they weren’t viable,
there was no hope for them – and I thought
I could never feel anything again
but my ever-present
companion, my dark and lonely,
sometimes lovely, bone-deep sadness.


now there’s a chance, somehow
a new shoot is trying
to grow. I watch it in
amazement, touched
by the way life insists
on coming back, no matter
how annihilated
the garden. I’m rooting
for you, little shoot. good
luck. you’ll need it.


The fear of ice split my head like a melon
a creeping thought of you
gnawed in the crack
but silvery whispers, seeds twitching dark
and in the interim, warned
or warmed me on.
I’m stopped up with you instantly,
constantly; my sidelong escapes
revert to their furrow
and in the back garden
the crown of your row
your sunflower soul
blackens sweetly, slowly.
So like a good little mole,
I subvert a cold hand
to dig up your old gnawed one.