Wednesday, 3 May 2017

The Rose Garden

I stood naked on the 
ground, feet sinking into
the sponge of the dewy
grass. He met me there
and sprinkled the seeds
around me, in a loose circle.
We agreed to water it

The sun set on that 
summer and the roots
that sprouted began to 
spread. with each sun
set and rise millimeters
of green veins were
added. We learned that 
for the roses to flourish 
they would need support
so we added a metallic 
arch over my head - naked 
body still enduring seasonal

With autumn came the first
buds, the bloom glorious.
Tiny blushing drops eventually 
spread open, filling my nostrils with 
the scent of molasses. My thighs 
and hips were covered in dustings 
of nectar as he pruned, watered
and tended to the new born

It continued this way - and 
by the seventh cycle the archway
was laden with the weight of 
roses so dense that a single
would weigh down 
the cup of your palm

As the garden flourished, I kept
looking up in awe of the beauty 
that we nurtured, only rarely ever
taking note of the large and heavy vines
that entwined around my waist 
and breasts, coiled around my feet -
cramping  my calves and aching my

It was a byproduct of the beauty, 
a cost at which the garden came. 
In the winter I even took solace in
the tight green shelter - it offered
welcome protection from the frosty cold. 
I was safe.

But all this time, I failed to see that
as the roses grew so too did the jagged,
thick and sturdy thorns. Blinded by the
velvet plush petals, it took me by surprise
how the thorns stealthily grew so large
that they barely noticeably pierced their way 
through my rib cage, puncturing my lungs.

Making it
                               for me 
                                          to breathe.

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