To Live Here
By: L Kiew
About The Poem
Gardens have formed such an important part of many people’s experience of the last year. While they are often a haven, not everyone has their own garden.
The door slammed. I tended a fire,
a crackling of acer leaves,
a bonfire of flaming herberis,
camellias, azaleas, living flames.
I gave what the garden gave:
shrubs, sycamore, long grass,
white-faced houses, wooden
benches, laughter from the shade.
Into the conflagration I flung
myself, petals, language
drifting from the page, not
belonging, longing to live. Here.
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