The Garden Has Gone Mad
Any chance this is the right summer? Any chance
you’ll come and stay, maybe a year or two?
Here, the garden has gone mad – everything out –
the china broken among these tools
that we have made up to make up –
shears, trowels, a silver-plated emerald-encrusted
shovel, all swallowed up by your absence.
I love our blue hearts. I think often
what it is to wake up in this
waterflesh and then gather rosemary.
What it is to live in this wide house
all alone and smother the ghost
that tells me to do, to do, to do,
like a train. The orchids have grown teeth
in their mouths. As an aside, I have come
to believe my hips might be sapphire. Any chance?
Evening, shortly. Outside, the woodlice
hold an amorous feast. And in the evening,
I am very over –
— Miruna Fulgeanu (2020)