Lost and scattered memories
hang upon the twisted wire fence
with ivy-coveredwalls and
broken rose stems covering the
crumbling stone benchthat
rests near a wheat-infested garden
where the nightshadegrows
amidst the yarrow and the
morning glories are now closed.
While Iwalk through this
ruined garden I find myself
more a wisp of aghost
than a woman.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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