Autumn Sky Poetry . . . Number 10 . . .
 

Painted Garden

     by Cheryl Snell



If he had simply faded

like a shout from the street,

the chaste tree

she loves for its blue irony

would not have been planted,

nor the red clover made to bleed.

It was always too dark, or windy,

it was too late to call

or she would have grown blooms enough

to rasp against the drainpipe, she could have

frilled the sills with fringe. The point

is to keep track of it all: the tears and lies,

the number of times skin pinks

under unfamiliar hands. The muscles,

lax enough, will loose inhibitions

into the world. To load a brush with moments,

who doesn’t want that? She wasn’t trying

to mock the sun with night-blooming flowers.

She was trying to capture the foxglove’s broken hearts.










Cheryl Snell is the author of a novel, Shiva’s Arms (Writer's Lair books), and four collections of poetry: Flower Half Blown, Epithalamion, Samsara, and the forthcoming Prisoner’s Dilemma.

© 2008 Cheryl Snell