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The Gardener

A poem

Published on:
October 23, 2019
Read time:
1 min.
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I am awake. The morning is so
bright but I know the road
is long and littered with minutes
I’d rather not live in for longer than
a second, still there are
sixty. This life is only
partly arbored and its arbors
only sometimes flower.
Seasons weave and writhe
in their smoke rings,
effusively charming
and charmingly fleeting,
until you can’t stand the
secondhand smoke
anymore. I’d say let me go
but I don’t want to go alone,
or run another gravelly path
holding my breath
like this. Today I would turn
on my heel but my heels
hurt worse with every step.
Surely you know

the green road feels
steep and I’m broke and
I just want to go home—to be
home, or to turn around
and like Mary
see you standing there.

Grace Shaw
Grace Shaw grew up in Dallas, Texas, and recently graduated from Gordon College with a BA in Philosophy. She now works as an associate at a fiercely people-oriented consulting firm called The Clapham Group outside of Washington, D.C. The only hobby of hers worth noting is losing sleep over good conversations. She writes because she has to.

Cover image by Vince Fleming.

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