“Everything’s a metaphor,” he said,
deadheading the rosebush,
thick gloves protecting him from its spite.
“Is it?” I asked, “Even us?
Are we just a metaphor?”
And though he didn’t look at me,
I saw a smile tilt the corner of his lips
as he nodded.
“Oh yes, especially us,” he said,
pinching off a withered bloom
and dropping it into the dirt.
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
author bio: Jan Harper
Enjoyment of the written word is a gift I've been granted all my life; to have others enjoy what I write is another, more surprising one.
When a poet's words are read, minds connect at an infinitely intimate level.
My writing has appeared in various print publications, from single pieces to arrangements of 10, plus in numerous spots across the web over the past 20 years.
I'm an ex-Brit living in America with my husband, mother-in-law, dog, cats and chickens, plus coyotes, rabbits, deer, possums and other wild critters; when I'm not writing poetry, I can be found with my hands in the dirt, planting and growing a kaleidoscope of produce, or making jams and good meals from the harvest. Painting, knitting, needlecraft and more all express my love of creating.
(photo taken with my phone of a little spot near Southend, England, where I once sat and ate burger and chips as I contemplated being a mermaid)
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