II. Greenhouse

*This poem is a part II, to a series I have started for events in my life, called To Plant the Memories Like Seeds. Check out the first part, Chain-Link Fence
Check out the third part Wildflower (I’m Sorry)

I remember her the way you
remember a cut; within the
scars it left behind.

She was a gardener; carrying
beauty in her pocket, and
teaching me how to tend the
flowers.

She showed me the ways a
rose’s thorns could paint its
petals red.

She became my mentor,
teaching me how to hate the
size of my leaves and dig for
the veins.

I remembered her the day
she quit, the day she taught
me not all addictions are
substance abuse.

I grasped the independence,
but carried her lessons with
me. 

The day the storm rolled in,
she’d evacuated long before,
but I remembered the way
she handed me the keys to
the shed.

The way the sharpness of
the tools glistened in the
light of the open doors.

The rain rubbed against the
aftermath, and the lightning
scratched at my flesh.

The wind screamed in my ears-

“This is what you wanted.”

The day the storm rolled in,
the thunder left threats in
the holes the tornadoes
created in my walls.

I remembered her in the
broken greenhouse, and
the way she opened my
eyes to the damage cutting
one stem could do to the
whole flower bed.

And I remember her every
time I paint my rose petals
with my thorns, and dig for
the veins.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

14 thoughts on “II. Greenhouse

  1. I’m not sure I get what the poem is talking about, unless it’s talking about someone who introduced you to, or prompted you to start cutting yourself. Looked at that way, the imagery, metaphors, and language are so powerful they make me queasy and anxious.

    The rain rubbed against the
    aftermath, and the lightning
    scratched at my flesh.

    The day the storm rolled in,
    the thunder left threats in
    the holes the tornadoes
    created in my walls.

    This is just incredibly powerful stuff. It almost makes me want to hold onto my desk while I read it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You have beautiful, effective imagery. This breaks my heart. I hope you are okay? I know scars never leave, but I hope you are healing, not adding more. Thank you for your willingness to share such intimate experiences, even in veiling poetic form. You are brave and beautiful!

    Liked by 2 people

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