Mud – a poem

Mud

Let people have their private nonsenses;

here is mine:

I thought I could weed-kill every part of you

that had taken root inside my chest;

pouring poison down my throat

just to be rid of your trembling leaves

that rustled when I breathed, no, no

I swore I didn’t love you anymore.

You wouldn’t be silenced; I could

bury you in mud three feet deep and 

you, sapling lover, would find purchase

in my hatred.  Crying out for arms

around me, I would climb shaking 

into your branches and nest like a bird

in your highest places.

Daisy Harris – 22/05/2019