when first you. staked those signs.
weeds (stubborn) took root
plastic tendrils creeping/choking
what we: once/together/nurtured.
do you remember? tending? then?
each new declaration: a thorn piercing
where bright blooms once flourished.
could friendship (truly?) survive
beneath shadows you raised?
(you thought yes) (we now know no)
spring: remember—
tomato sprouts: skyward
steam curling/dawn breaking/mugs
soil-scent + coffee-breath + pages
worn thin from countless Sundays
we planted hope: remember? side by side.
now those memories
(wilt)
like leaves
in your windowsill’s dust
curling inward
abandonment = scent of morning lost.
summer came with your resolve—
bristling/thorn-wrapped/canopied
but shadows stretched further
while bridges crumbled (beneath us)
beneath feet/faith/trust: lost.
did you watch? did you see?
your voice once august-warm
now only echoes—off vacant chairs
where laughter: lingered
conversations: brittle leaves
scraping (across) ground cold/hard.
you counted. profits. like seeds.
(saving) soil enriched by others’
fall/decay/emptiness
but never seeing:
your harvest = their hunger
your abundance > their drought
your stream ≠ ours
each dollar (hoarded) = one drop (denied)
from parched mouths: downstream.
now: separate gardens
now: separate truths
now: separate hearts.
where once sweet herbs thrived
now only razors cut the air
accusations casting shadows
across this earth: cracked/broken/dry
no tending now:
what winter claims is gone.
it was never politics (no)
but trust’s slow erosion (yes)
hearts freezing (yes)
beneath shadows: cast/caught/clung-to.
pride in withered fields?
take this weight (yours/alone)
let it sink bone-deep
while the greenhouse: silences
while faces: scatter
while seeds: lost to wind’s grip.
this, your harvest—
bitter rows
shriveled fruit
a sweetness turned bitter.
taste it in the stillness
when the world turns cold
hands once stained with hope
now empty/clean/sharp with thorns.
maybe (deep beneath frost)
memory-roots remain/clinging/remembering
what we grew (together)
what the garden held
what we forgot.
every thorn = a witness
each bitter fruit = a testament
of sweetness
salted
away
by your certainty,
not grace.
Also lives here: Salted earth shattered roots - a poem by Emeselle Bowmyn - All Poetry
