the harvester.

the concept of

colour and

personality…

I’ve always been

a harvester of

self

scrutinizing my fruits

the ripe and the rotten

curious of how I’ve grown

and how to have

healthier fields

for next season.

I asked around

how do others see my garden?

if there was one colour

that filled their mind.

everyone told me

green.

the first thought to plant

well

as a child

my favourite colour was green

it always made me feel like

I was outside

running in the meadow

near my childhood home.

as an adult

I dug a bit deeper:

well

Ms. Hinton

you’ve always been on the outside

poorly designed to fit in

the plant too big to pot.

what do my new roommates think

discovering the thistles

that stick to me for no good reason

the irrational irritability and pain that

I allow to follow me around.

My roommates say

you’re our lucky clover

we never thought we’d find you

we’d whisper our secret wishes to you

lay down beside you on a cloudy day

we think you’re one in a million

you bring us hope.

I think

my boyfriend sees green

the winding envy that tangles

along the trestle of

our relationship

invasive in my questions

the gardener inside me

wanting to know if he looks at

other’s agriculture.

he says

no

I see green

more like

chlorophyll

you give me energy

you drive my life on earth

you’re my every breath of air

my world would end without you

and so would many others.

what about my mother

how I’ve sucked her dry of nutrients

the overgrown weed

she can never escape.

my mother refutes

you once were my little seed

the chrysanthemum I hoped to grow

I’ve tended to you year after year

I’ve seen you blossom

bringing smiles to others just by being alive

I’ve seen you wilt

rain flattening you unbearably

some days I wondered

if I’d have to bury you in the ground

and yet here you are my darling

all grown up

making the world

more sweeter than before.

peering through the forest of

Gillian

my mind is not always a safe place

crawling with snakes and spiders

but such words

make me wonder

if thoughts like mine

are just part of a regular ecosystem

and saying mean things to the plants

doesn’t make them grow faster.

maybe I could see myself

more like

a magnificent chestnut tree;

gnarled with bumps

ridden in tough pointy leaves

and yet I feed those around me

I offer shade to the locals

and with a big sturdy trunk

I am resilient.

I’m too big of a plant to pot

and maybe that’s not a bad thing because

I’m meant to grow

outside.

- g.y.h.