Overgrown

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Review Chain
I am wearing thin.

Submitted: June 05, 2017

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Submitted: June 05, 2017

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They ask me to describe the human condition

As if that can be encompassed by

The glass bowl sitting in my chest

 

Fish crooning in circles

Seeking the bubbles in my breast

 

They ask me to…

 

They ask me to stay

She asks me to stay

 

There’s no fishbowl

Someone dropped seeds down my throat

An invasive species swims between

The knots and tangles

 

Broken glass

 

Fish can die during a drought

 

Not sure if I’ve ever known “alive”

 

But she assumes there isn’t---

A lie. A steepness to this height

 

A stillness that belies a blight

 

My pores exude raspberries, mint,

And straw.

 

They ask me to prune my brambles

And my gravestones

 

She asks me to tend and maintain,

Lies down, mild, and gravel,

weeds don’t grow fainter

Nor do they grow alert

 

Her hands aren’t shears

Her hands bear no gloves

Her hands are alive

So alive, digging through my earth

 

They ask me to become tragedy,

The comedy, the backdrop,

 

Scorch the leftovers and the ready

They jar and store my disdain

 

Cause Fire needs air to breathe

They need Fire to eat

Ash is what they want from me

 

But, she unsheathes a While

She’s the Fishbowl, the glass on outside

Fish swaddle the mean

Divide, add up, take the low

 

How low is low?

 

Is this any different from the

Blackened shores born of

The countless ribcages I’ve hung

 

Or is all I know ruin? And it how it grows and grows

Has me swimming.

The fish dying in rows

 

The human condition is a compass

I'm the needle pointing West

She’s got South jammed in

Riverbeds my mama tore abreast

 

It grows outward, forward,

Where’s my heart

Made of soil

 

Did she uncover it?

The fishbowl or the trowel

Or the hands that  claw

And chase the dryness

 

Into my home?

 


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