Lucy Alexander #16 His Garden

We stand in the garden with the full moon coming on

the pull of it like the one that’s pulling out the leaves

the chirping crickets at dusk the runnels of their voices

and he tells me now, his daughters, the two older ones,

how they are gone with their mother the way that

winter is gone the way that bird that outflew its cage is gone

gone the safety of their violins the budding chuckle of their voices.

We watch the younger daughter cavort with mine on green island

a plantation of weeds pulled up by the sun and the promise of

more warmth to show flowers to grow seeds to make greenery

and we watch the sun curl light onto the windows of his house.

His voice doesn’t crack, but he looks down at the fresh grass

and the flattened weeds and the wire on the gate to keep the ducks in.

If you took my children I would hunt you down 

I would bite off both your ears I would ram a pestle down your throat

I would come by night and murder your nightmares

I would plant weeds on your gravesite which will be unknown to the police

If you took my children I would have no qualms I would find you and throttle 

you and feed your gizzards to my dogs I would steal my children from you.

I watch this man as he looks down

Is this what he dreams? Is this the taught web that cracks in him?

The night is coming down I take my children home.