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  • Writer's pictureSharon Frances

The Vine

clinging to worth

a vine narrowly chokes me

with doubt about

what happened when

I left myself out in the rain

When I lay on a bench

shivering and coughing

while you enjoyed the play.

I left myself out in the cold

while you stared through me

I was a patient, not a partner

The vine wraps around

my middle, thick with

age and cancer and body

Too much body

Breasts and sex and lust

never any trust

I didn't fit the mold

of a good wife,

quiet and pure

letting everything be

as you wanted

the vines wrap

around my throat

I take up too much space

you dont even look

at my face

my well is

empty of water

empty of home


your eyes narrow

glints of resentment

you never got what you wanted

I stood in your way:

a patient, a diseased body

a depressed soul

a pushy, selfish girl

who didn't even wait

to have sex until

I met you


you never saw a

minute of me

how my leaves reach out

to give shade

my petals burst

to make laughter

my earth cools

for digging and playing

this garden

is beautiful



you have no power

over me

I send myself messages

of love through my roots

a network I built

to make sense of the pain

as I lay in a bed of vines

wet, clinging to worth

in the rain

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