this vine clings to my legs:
holds me until rooted in place.
I am surrounded by maples, pines, roses, lily of the valley;
and yet, in this garden, this oasis of life,
a darkness grows.
It spreads into the ground;
finds me here.
This darkness slithers on hopes that feed an angry imagination.
You wish the best for me, and yet,
flower petals drip with blood.
I am pierced by a thousand thorns.
The vine spreads further up my calves, around my waist, into my hair.
Its grip tightens. My soul screams.
for insidious intrusive thoughts.
by the petals that offer beauty
by its whispers that proclaim truth.
I tell myself you are nothing.
No truth is offered.
No hope found in the disarray.
And yet, in a sudden firestorm,
wave upon wave of ash spreads from a burning bush.
It covers my hands, my hair,
infiltrates my breath…
… What monster have I become? …
I tilt my head to the sky,
feel the vine wrap itself around my throat.
I pray for the day,
when the vine will release me,
and I will walk upon the hallowed ground:
a sacred space of earth, of beauty.
Another rose petal drops from my cascade of brown hair.
It falls and
through layers of air, until it lands softly without a sound.
I am surrounded by waters of red:
red with blood,
red with petals,
red with anger.
Through the haze I feel your sadness.
I feel that longing to be one again.
And I, trapped by this intrepid vine,
call out into the darkness.