GARDEN
part one of Re-begot
part one of Re-begot
Please don't ask me, "How do you feel?" In the garden of how I feel nothing grows but tears and groans and bitter aloes. I cannot speak my sorrow: it swells inside me, poisoned tumour choking words and ulcerating thoughts.
In the garden of how I feel, there is no light; shade, not sheltering, skulks like punishment in mandrake-screaming corner. Rustling in mildewed leaves of rats running to gnaw nerves’ endings. They drag their tails and leave
their stench.
Please don’t tell me, fresh amputee, crawling to closed door: “You must move on”. The past shifts tectonically; in violence of absence nothing looks the same that was seen before through someone else’s eyes. Memory’s disfigured by severance; my only voluntary movement long journey in catacombed mind to rediscover what’s gone...
Metamorphosis in a new garden: replant the wild and tender flowers she loved; replicate the ancient art of sweet disorder, heart breaking colours out of stone and clay; a slender straight-backed gallantry, swaying of summer stems as she stands high in the branches, laughing; the mystery of patterns changing in dappled light; the way to make-believe the most while having little.....
go to Part Two of Re-begot: PUNISHMENT
