“We are, I am, you are, by cowardice or courage, the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera, a book of myths, in which our names do not appear.”
– Adrienne Rich, Diving into the Wreck
Here’s another Garden
Another Well lying, unfalsifiably deep,
Overflowing.. Trickling drops roll
Down the mossy cobblestone
Absorbed whence they came,
Back, into the dark ground
Refreshing dying weeds,
Brambles, and that single
Gnarled tree, still fruitless.
What happened here?
I wonder, as the Well erupts
Some invisible force propels me
To the brink, to drink, drink, drink,
Absorbed whence I came, refreshing
Dying gods and monsters, black arms
Drawing me back into the dark.
All the answers are here, I’m certain
If only I dive deeply enough,
I might find the source, and link it
Might I bring it back to my Garden,
The one that isn’t dead, the one
That little girl frolicked freely through,
Unconcerned with evaporation,
The one never neglected, never decayed;
No overgrown invaders deeply rooted
Into impassable walls of thorns..
Choking, gasping toxic air, I find myself
In another Garden, but not the Garden;
Not the one left behind, nor sought,
Under another sky, some new place
Where the Well still lingers,
Consuming time, space, and matter
What is my purpose? It erupts again,
With it, memories of that day she climbed,
Reached for the fruit, and fell
Fingers clenched to that bell-shaped prize.
Back again, I feel the impact of the fall
But not the fruit it was worth..
Sorrow without joy; Doubt without
Certainty; A woman without fruit
In a Garden without life, drowning
Wishing for death, if only for the weeds..
I tear at them furiously, every root pulled
Leaves behind seeds for a hopeless future
Without space to grow, but I keep going
I stop looking to the Well for answers,
And work, though I know not what I do,
A Garden becomes a Wasteland,
Just dirt, the Well, the tree, and me
Where I carve these words, humbly
And offer my fruit to the tree.