Ipomoea
Stubborn invasive wonder,
roots thick and deep
as a bad habit.
Vines snake up
the fig, so entwined
around its branches,
I can’t face the tedium
of unwinding them.
Violet blossoms peek out
between the fig leaves
like bright, unbodied
faces. The intruder
shelters among the thorns
of the trellised rose.
Its long stems sneak
through the thatch
of untidy grass and erupt
in tough clumps
that smother
the rosemary.
But I love those vowels,
round mouthfeel
of that name.
Life’s a tangle.
Why complain?
Maybe planting it
wasn’t a mistake.
I’ve never thought
the marriage was.
Often I sense
a wisp of ghost sifting
through the green
mess, watching me.
PATRICIA ZYLIUS is the author of the chapbook Once a Vibrant Field. Read more.