Snapdragons transport me
back to father’s gardens –
the pleasure of pinching
delicate flower mouths
forbidden as I was, tiny
feet banished from tiers
of ordered colours, how
he worshipped those rows
hours spent on knees,
as if in prayer, attention
lavished on nurturing
growth while I shrivelled
at the sidelines, longed
to dig beside him, sully
my hands and share
a passion, ignorant of
an inner drive to weed
out imperfections, felt
only walls of separation,
the coldness of perfection
and in my wilful way,
rebelled against taboos,
tiptoed through the soil
and pinched snapdragons.
You rebel you! This is a beautiful description of a memory.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha ha, thanks. I was a bit of a rebel, yes.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this.
My snapdragons were peonys and coral bells.
But, who can resist something called snapdragons.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The snapdragons were my favourites – he always planted them at the back, out of reach, lol.
LikeLike
Amazing poetry and imagery. Love this! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLiked by 1 person
beautiful poetry vj. very exquisite. xx
LikeLike