confined to the boxes there
create your private illusions
flourishes to bloom herbs, pressing
weeds and brewed a bitter tea

someone else’s wildflowers
became your vines wrapped legs
firmly planted immutable space
with spurious belief, internal critic

bought Birnam wood closing
round with root and branch held
once greenish constructed a prison
of what would have been beautiful.


One thought on “held

  1. your first two lines and your last two lines are the poem and I love it -but,in between I got lost in too many imageries… love,mom



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