Friday, July 15, 2011

A Man's Garden is his Panopticon

[A post promised to The Wrathful Poetess.]

I write myself into narratives of paternity and dependence, of piquant sorrow and solvent despair, of silences and sunflowers.

The cucumbers are restless. And the tomatoes bloom.

I think next year I'll hand-sculpt a trellis for some grapes to vine.