that which withers (may sometimes be conjured again)

in riverwater, like in summer songs,
there is no fear, only
longing. we have never

once swum naked, never sunk
our suspicions in dark rivermud
to drown with all their scrapmetal

hearts; instead we bury them
in the backyard of the co-
habitation we both agree

was too soon, next
to the roses by the bleached-
bone fence. i miss your

honeysuckle, the pulling
sweet drips of you
with my tongue. i long

for a good, hard
stretch of new growth,
a backwards of time,

depths that brighten
in sunlight. i want
to plant lavender

and strawberries, shoo
away the stale that
creeps damp-wise

into us. i am
bareso(u)led. & tired
of pruning.

22 thoughts on “that which withers (may sometimes be conjured again)

  1. Pruning is the most thankless job – all harsh, unforgiving. Yet hopefully it will extend the life of plants, of love, of desire. A beautiful metaphor. Really like the way you handled this poem, especially the honeysuckle.

  2. whew….the burying them in the back yard of cohabitation…as opposed to letting them sink in the mud with the steel hearts….
    i am all for the new life over that which creeps….really fine progression in this joanna

  3. Great quiet tale here. Loved all the natural allusions, esp the line

    ” i long

    for a good, hard
    stretch of new growth”

    Keep growing – it hurts because it’s making you stronger. Big ups for the little lady- Mosk

  4. “Shoo away the stale that creeps damp wise into us…” A good marriage takes constant stepping back, looking again, saying ‘does this look right?’ and pruning away when it doesn’t.
    Great write!
    From another Joanna (Jody) . 🙂

  5. Well done

    “. i miss your

    honeysuckle, the pulling
    sweet drips of you
    with my tongue. i long

    for a good, hard
    stretch of new growth,
    a backwards of time,”

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