fanged root begins to snake—
in three sharp thrusts
I rout out a stub
toss it on a dry heap of yellow sticks
somewhat weakened
Once ravenous
in the bed
my arms crept up hung from the iron
frame Pull me out
I cried
to no one my husband gone where he was
my family melting away
and I
attached as a root to blight
or to what is
invasive O honeysuckle
O pretty and sweet
The hollow stems crowding out
light O soundless plague of the forest
Imagine somebody whispers
stopping that cycle imagine you
being the one
I lay abed my spikes softening unwitnessed
mouth adrift missing
a petal
Heave out each inch of bindweed
and what is left A hole
too vast to be a hole
god-gutted space within the earth
nothing to push against impossible
to envision There what could be living
I go into the kitchen for water I await my friend
who has for years worked
his family garden
He who is kind
regards the root and starts
to dig—
from Pretty TripwireFind more by Alessandra Lynch at the library
Copyright © 2021 Alessandra Lynch
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.