My garden is filled with
weeds of the past and
seeds I have planted to
create a new
future.
The weeds sting my
hands as I try to
pull them from
the ground.
It is a mound
I have re-made every
time there has
been a storm.
It is like a
life re-born.
My garden grows
flowers in the summer
and dies in the
winter.
I try to water
it during the
drought,
but sometimes
the ground falls
beneath my feet.
Sometimes the birds
tweet, but then they hide
and there is
silence in
my garden.
I think
I like my
garden.
My garden is
mine,
and my life.
LegallyFierceFeminist 