1/25/2018 In My Garden by Erin TaylorIn My Garden it has been over three years since Hugo ripped open my body. he planted many things. what is there to say about a garden of salt? fatty ripped tears all over my stomach. my arms; blue veins spilling red. my back; remembering his body. his body which miraculously overtook mine, in a morning. the garden is dead, has always been dead, maybe. sitting in my garden, I have attempted to flourish it up, putting plastic pink chairs, drinking lemonade in the sunlight but September always comes again. many stop through the garden, deciding to head elsewhere as they step over red rocks that hurt their feet. my vulnerability is a jagged thing. I am alone in this garden, much as I was alone before. I remember growth once. Bio: Erin Taylor is an American poet whose work has been featured at LAMBDA Literary, Cosmonauts Avenue, Scum Mag, and more. More of her work can be found at erintaylor.tumblr.com and she tweets at @erinisaway. Comments are closed.
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August 2024
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