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Jun 2022
flower spies me through its periscope after
bumblebee abandons.
i lay upon the grass mattress
the diatomaceous earth being
tilled beneath by worms in cordial, unfazed shifts.

didn't I place that greenery there? predetermined what its
width and breadth would be in accordance with
the grave I dug for roots to go in,

imagined i could control the seasons, boasted
special fertilizer and city water would subjugate
the plant from dying,
took for granted that it would
with absolutely no attention
just the same as I do.

Sara Fielder © June 2022
Sara Went Sailing
Written by
Sara Went Sailing  Bohemia
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