Raspberry Bush

She once danced in the breeze alone

Before red stems reached for her sun.

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It started with one stem—

A whisper of red on the edge of spring,

Planted with compassion,

Nurtured with empathy.

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Giving home to a plant

Desperate for sunlight,

Allowing her space to grow,

Contributing her worth.

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Her beauty glistens after her mid-morning shower,

Indulging in her nutrients to grow stronger.

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I let her grow

Because I thought beauty couldn’t be invasive,

That she would stand alone,

Independently.

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As the Queen continues to double in size,

Her throne extends into others,

Overshadowing the beauty of the lavender,

Relinquishing her dire nutrition.

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What the raspberry bush forgot to add—

She wasn’t alone.

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Her bush grew a vine,

Suffocating the lavender,

Pushing her out of her own home.

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No matter how many times the vine was cut,

He always came back.

He wasn’t meant for this garden,

But the roots made room anyway.

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A seed unplanted,

Creeping up in times of peace,

Tangling with the other plants

As they begin to lose their beauty.

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Sunlight now only shines on their bush,

Selfishly absorbing without second thought—

Soaking that mid-morning shower solo,

Watching as the lavender fades.

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The berries,

Once sweet—red like fire—

Fall pink and taste sour.

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The vine is bigger than the bush ever was,

Claiming the garden as its own,

No desire to reflect,

To rehome.

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But my lavender means more

Then their berries.

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And right now,

Ms. Lavender is not okay.

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We uproot the bush.

Cut the vine.

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And suddenly,

In that moment,

The lavender

Gazes up in peace.