Endless Lawn XX

…left out for the rain to gnaw

Sometimes they’re gonna be introspective! Hope y’all like it all the same. This is from the end of mowing season a couple years back.

I Left My Love Out

I pulled the chord.

The light was amber.

I struggled uphill

past the rock lilies,

growing tall (defiantly),

past the raised beds,

and the lavender

(a volunteer from before),

tomatoes (razed by the heat,

but still bearing fruit),

and scotch bonnets

(who drink the sun in greedily).

I reached the upper yard.

I saw more plants.

I’ve cared for them for weeks.

I pushed the machine.

I saw a shovel

leaning against the house,

left out for the rain to gnaw.

Not much rain this summer.

Still - it was enough

to dapple the steel.

It hit me then:

I left my love out.
How many weeks has it been?

Months? Years?

I’ve been maintaining my lawn.

Watering and pruning my plants.

Tending the garden

of words and melodies

in my mind.

But I left my love out.
It hasn’t been oxidized.

There’s no wasp’s nest in it.

But its color has faded.

So I bring it in.

But it won’t work anymore.
Not the way it’s supposed to.

It’s always frustrated.

Sometimes even unkind.

So I recycle my love.

I wave to it

in it’s blue bin.

There’s a tear in my eye.

But when I inhale,

so ready to break down

and really cry,

I smell the grass.

And the smell of fresh

cut grass excites me.

And I’ll be damned

if I don’t smile

at the thought of

the grass growing,

and my love

struggling uphill

to thrive again.

T. Evans, August 21