Fall 2025
Poem If My Anger Were a Garden
If my anger were a garden
It would be a forest
With a well-worn trail winding through it.
You would walk on it
Assuming you were invited.
You would think,
I’m on a hike.
You won’t comprehend how multitudinous are the eyes watching you.
You wouldn’t fathom how many ears hear your small steps and endless demands.
You dig, you take, you eat.
You curse my 8 legs.
You revile as I, a mob of ants devour a harmless worm.
You huff in frustration:
“Is this all there is to you?
I thought I would be more impressed.”
You leave.
Later
Like a bird stuffed with honeysuckles berries, you would wonder why you’re famished.
You wonder why your skin blisters and itches.
You curse me again.
You come back.
You take more.
I don’t owe you an explanation in your language.
You leave.
You come back
And swear, this is where the forest is, well was. This is where the trail is.
But I will be gone.
Will you soon too?