Dancing In My Garden

I will walk slowly in the meadow
Of my thoughts,
Carefully avoiding
The holes and tangled roots
Of passions quelled
And long forgotten.
This is a treacherous place,
This garden
Of buried memories,
With bony, reaching hands
That seek to stop me
And drop me face first
Into their soiled
Derelict remnants.
It is terrifying
And yet I must walk
Its length
From stem to stern
And tear down
Its surrounding walls,
Just as I cut down
Its bracken
To reveal the treasures beneath.
Only then
Can I dance in my garden.


© 2002 Pam H. Murray


May 25, 2002