Poem by Rebecca Thrush

I spent hours in soil
Pulled boulders like this bed
Wasn’t made of your teeth and silver tongue
Each morning brought new lines
Like that purple and pruned inch plant
Ivy licked at our knees
I traded fire for the quietude of torn roots
And with every dancing foot we plucked chips
Red and weathered
They turned on us in seasons unknown
We knew the levels were uneven
But bulbs kept on flashing
Earthen reeds bled into white siding
Do the finches know how you’ve stolen their thistle?
You seeped the needles into boiled water
Purple softer than phenomenal in bloom
All the better to stain your linens
Before laying down my rusted trowel 
And as you walked away
You left your bruised cloths in my wheelbarrow
As if I had been the one
To plant your staining petals
Thorned tendrils rose up in a muddied green
To tear at knees and shins
Like a fearful buffer to our soiled reach