I remember the ivy
that grew in the side
of our first house
year by year, we
watched it shake off
its dead leaves and
tremble, naked through
the winter
in the Spring,
we'd take tea underneath
it, sharing the sugar spoon
like we shared sheets
and secrets
we watched it beat
again, like a heart
restarting, rising after
the fall
the wrought iron
chairs are rusted brown
now, and no-one sits
upon them
we're dead
but breathing,
blood pulsing on
and on
hearts beating backwards
and sugar spoons left
out for the
ants
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
I remember the ivy
that grew in the side
of our first house
year by year, we
watched it shake off
its dead leaves and
tremble, naked through
the winter
in the Spring,
we'd take tea underneath
it, sharing the sugar spoon
like we shared sheets
and secrets
we watched it beat
again, like a heart
restarting, rising after
the fall
the wrought iron
chairs are rusted brown
now, and no-one sits
upon them
we're dead
but breathing,
blood pulsing on
and on
hearts beating backwards
and sugar spoons left
out for the
ants
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