i'm in the garden. again.

 

 

 

In the empty house next door,

a victim, no doubt, of the housing crisis;

yes, that house where the ghost woman

lived. Who behind a wooden privacy fence

lied to me each year about her tomatoes.

Yeah, that fence.

 

Where I heard her and Harold making long

vegetable wishes on pullover tee shirts and

though the top of her head was always visible,

her dignity was lost in sadomasochistic

gardens. But if you lie about tomatoes

 

you'll lie about the child that Harold

couldn't father or any other three

dimensional subunit. Or lie about the

light left on in the garage or the shoes

left running, full of mud, on the steps.

I did mention she was a ghost didn't I?

 

And who had the blood work done

for liposuction, but being too fragile,

lied about the weight she lost on Hydroxicut.

With just enough light through the grommet

of wood and splinter, not a single hair

was ever combed before sunrise.

 

But there were lies about knowing John Lennon

and satisfying men in the back of cars, but

being a human being, how would I know truth

from privacy, and quiet as it's kept, no

tomatoes were ever ushered out of the dirt.

And Harold finally went away in a car,

 

and the house was returned to the bank that

already had a trillion houses returned to

them by ghosts in other yards with

fairytale tomatoes, in that intelechy

of worm and rain but not demonstrable

 

by scientific methods. And it's amusing now

the cat they abandond, living well off  mice

and birds but happy and offering an

arched  back to rub and coo. And now

 

everything unpainted like those legendary

stories of supernatural happenings and unattended

apples on swolen trees, lighting this

circuit traveled by this itinerant justice.

 

Summer.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

all metaphorical to me...

relationships get ripe and then we pluck them from the garden...but then if we don't use them, take advantage of them, they overripen.

and then...they die...and become ghosts.

i also like the inference in this of technology...how we have become so dependent on it that we don't live for real anymore..everything is artificial.

yet that contented cat enjoys life as in its simplest form and pleasure...that delicious mouse or bird...purrrrrr. you are so good.

jacob

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

I remember this from the other day..I apologize if I wasn't in the frame of mind to comment...I can't come close to comments like the ones below me..I am truly humbled by them and the poem above.

Like I said on the microphone to the band that came before me...truly a stellar performance

p.s. I read your poem "night one" to music and recorded it..I hope that's acceptable...you're, of.c., welcome to hear it after I edit the audio..I learned a knew spoken word technique that I'll email you about

Back to your poem..I love how this and every other poem of yours catches me off my guard. You have as profound an effect on me as any of my passions

[Corset]

what could I say that Diego hasn't said better, I loved tomatoes, but it's been a long time since I've been able to plant any, I buy mine at the store as nature intended, lol.
I don't believe in ghosts, but I believe in reincarnation, as in several chances to do it right if you can't the first time...I think circumstances cycle, sometimes it takes years but eventually you WILL learn what the Universe wants you to learn. Maybe not this lifetime...tho I was so hoping it would be, I love to grow some real tomatoes.

[Tree]

Great subject matter, the neighbor. Love the way you laid her out under a sun. Funny how we think we know how our neighbors perceive us but we don't know jack. They have nothing but time/ to figure us out. It doesn't take long to connect those dots when the person lives across the street or just next door. And what's worse is this neighbor might of not been aware of your magical/poetic ability to look into another person's soul. (Then again, her being a "ghost'' may have curtailed your abilities...) Also I enjoyed how you weaved the housing crisis/ into this piece. The country knows how hard Detroit's been hit. Another excellent piece, D