Garden

The sun beat down
On the back of my neck
As I dug a hole in the garden,
And with a harsh hand
I cradled my heart,
Placed it in the soil
Wondering idly how
It felt so cold in this weather.

I waited for spring.

Nothing grew,
Predictable yet disappointing,
While around it colors exploded,
Wildflowers, native flowers, exotic flowers,
Apparently everything can grow,
As long as it has nothing to do with me.

I stare out my window everyday,
Hope rising with the sun
And falling with a crushing swiftness,
Because all I want is to shed
Just a little bit of beauty on this world.

One day my mom looks at my garden,
She points to the vacant spot
Where I buried my heart as tribute,
And said that flower was spectacular,
Which, despite the fact that she’s always
Seen things that don’t exist, was confusing,
Nothing was there, of that I was sure.

Yet maybe beauty only shows itself
To those who are actually willing to see it,
I don’t know, it’s a philosophical idea
That I don’t want to grapple with,
But maybe, just maybe,
There is something there.

And maybe, just maybe,
I might one day get to see it.

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