The Garden Mother Wears a Corset

[theenemyisyou]

The Garden Mother Wears a Corset

 

Children snap at your fingers

And the worms

That writher among your dry, cracked flesh.

They pull the golden locks

And drag your skull into the pavement;

The rocks in your cheek daily reminders

Of the stones of your failures.

An onslaught of ants march

Through the blades of green existence

And into your mouth and crevices,

Sporting fire, Armani and ambition.

You've found it hard to move your legs

Into pastures

These fifteen years past

As they were too occupied

With the gnashing claws of adolescent palms.