December 5, 2018Tangles
The day I came home
to find my husband
waiting on the porch
for his ride an hour
and a half early
and on the wrong day,
I knew then I had
to take on the ivy
spread over most
of the yard.
Here’s what I love
about ivy.
It’s relentless,
doesn’t forget
or remember,
creeps, burrows
under soil,
through leaves
and weeds,
starts south, turns
north leaving little
trace of its path until
you grip its wily
tangled trailhead
and yank—oh
the glorious rip
that strips its long,
ropey vine.
No grief,
no remorse,
no tug of heart.
from #61 - Fall 2018