shears

A Poem by cricket

garden shears

trim, shape

mould with serrated
edges

like a battle axe

wielded by redemption

struck down, martyred

“in the name of love,
in the name of what can fill those cracks you exist in between and make us wholly beautiful again.”

a weed in their garden

looked over from high sitting windows

their occupants not bowing to the will of man nor wind

never having to suffer that same sense of

Change

that so burdens the lowly residents of their courtyard