poem: Tending the Garden of a Suicide VictimA Chapter by Marie AnzaloneThat which is wild and unruly has overgrown its more civilized companions. Goldenrod in lackluster brushy plumes and sour yellow sorrel, tasting of lemons. Some sad twining vine.
I did not know you. But I can tell you planted with care, and what you attempted to cultivate here was not comprehended by those who loved you; and in the pervasive neglect it seems your vision was lost.
My hands caress the stems of your Rudbeckia, trying to realign their lanky, desultory forms where their delicate beauty was engulfed by choking vines, and I wonder if better tending would have kept you in this world a little longer.
I sadly ponder what vision made you leave, and ask if the slow encroachment of weeds could have been pruned for you in time. or if anyone even noticed your need to be tended. And I hope you can see me here attempting to give love to your efforts,
trying to make your mark on this world just a little tiny bit more substantial. May this garden grow in health for many more years, and may your children understand, in time, that sometimes gardens in other worlds need new caretakers, too. © 2012 Marie AnzaloneAuthor's Note
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Added on August 25, 2011Last Updated on August 23, 2012 AuthorMarie AnzaloneXecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, GuatemalaAboutBilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..Writing
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