Garden

I too have turned

to the yard

 

turning the yard

into

 

frustration of flowers

I have felt for

 

a knot in the soil

coaxing pulling at

 

bindweed roots

pulling gently so

 

they give

half inch by half inch

 

the vines wound

silently violent

 

round the necks

of black eyed

 

susans 

Name each

 

flower and the yard

loses

 

ground becomes

 

brunnera bleeding

heart bearded

 

iris peony purple

coneflower lupine

 

lily

I enter

 

the garden

I enter hackles raised

 

One finger then two three

sliding into the earth

 

It falls away from itself like

cake crumbs

 

If I lower my mouth to it

I can catch the grains

 

of dirt on my lips

sweep them

 

away

with my tongue

 

A man who wanted to tie me

to a tree once licked

 

raw sugar from

my open hand

 

a policeman he wanted me

to behave

 

like an animal

From yard to garden

 

misprision  a prisoning

measure     of space

 

I hold up my hand and

drizzle strikes at

 

every target but my palm

 

I cannot be touched

by anything above me

 

 

 

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“Garden” is from The Ringing Ear: Black Poets Lean South (University of Georgia Press, 2007).