in the mind's garden
By Isabell Ku
if you really think about it,
the mind works like this:
sweep. swish. spill.
the wash-out of winter, cleansing
in order to defrost the bones --
to call forth all the buried
movement and cacophony.
that rhythmic rustling --
wildgrasses and budding stems,
they awaken and echo like
pulses of the heart --
mother is shifting in her sleep.
the body aches, sheds a skin.
renewal smells of petrichor,
of musty soil and slumber.
stop and prune so the mirror
is no longer despised.
so, how does the reflection look?
it ripples, roils, wriggling for life --
a snake that's seen all, remembers all,
swallowing all that's been
and spitting out the remnants.
crisp. cool. clean.
pieces from around the world
stored in the dip of this hand --
hold them near and dear.
shelved. potted. watered.
the garden replenishes --
feeding and nourishing.
taking and giving.
