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.

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A Psalm to Ivy

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Ghost Love