My Grandmother's Garden.

My grandmother’s garden grew wild

Within the confines of her chain-link fence.

She would plant, but never weed.

Grow; but never harvest.

She would spend hours in her garden,

Aimlessly dedicating her life.

 

My grandmother never organized her words much

And soon the day came when she couldn't organize her thoughts, either.

She was trapped within her own mind.

She could take in, but never put anything out.

Couldn't write, nor talk.

She had to spend every moment stuck within herself,

Planting more within her garden. 

Reviews

[zainul]

This is a vivid painting of a person who has become disorganized.
I think,such case may arise out of old age,disease,shock or other abnormal state of mind or body.
May I relate the popular concept of writers' block with such case? Just a thought,not to be taken too seriously.
I congratulate you,Katrina for sharing such a precious piece.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Okay, this is staggering. You write well beyond your years. The metaphor of the garden and the fence was so very subtle and hidden until we stepped into the second verse. I am struggling with these issues with my mother now and so I know what you must have seen and felt. It feels like someone you love is being sucked down some awful vortex and you cannot pull them out.

[Stormy Weather]

Wow, that's honestly really nice of you to say! Thanks. And yeah, I'm finding that it is a much more common thing than I realized, sadly enough.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I don't just leave nice comments when I am not impressed by a piece of work either. I am picky about that.

[Clockwork]

I'm not sure if this is what you were going for, but this reminds me of a person who is suffering from dementia or Alzheimers. I say that because I think the garden metaphor makes a great commentary about the nature of living with the condition. I watched the creeping vines of dementia ensnare my great grandmother for four years. It was one of the most heart-wrenching things I have every seen. A person who is proud and functional becoming lost within the overgrown places of the mind.

This is a powerful setup for the full realization of the idea you present in stanza two. These were my favorite lines:

She would plant, but never weed.
Grow; but never harvest.
She would spend hours in her garden,
Aimlessly dedicating her life.

[Stormy Weather]

You pinpointed what this is about pretty precisely, I must say. I'm sorry your grandmother had to go through that :/

[@]

That is sad.
These are some eloquent thoughts to a tragic story.

[Stormy Weather]

Thank you for your review.