Lay down in the garden with me

A dewy grass mattress

Moist soil pillow

The grasshoppers and ladybugs buzz to their own tunes

They may lullaby us to stardust

When our eyes shut, we may dream

Dream of soft silky caramel and salt in sugar

Of stomping through clouds and drowning in rain

Of choking on cotton and being unable to blink

Of plucking hair and snipping down sunflowers

Of grinding bones and searing flesh

No dream is safe.

He lurks in the shadows. Who is he?

He is you. He is your fear

He is every little horrific moment that made you uncomfortable, that made you cry

But we learn from what scares us, right?

He makes me relive it

He makes me see darkness again

We are not learning. We are oppressed.

We are afraid

His ideas are rancid like spoiled milk

Some children have mothers who have died

He makes them see it, makes them live it, over and over

Some children have mothers who are healthy and well

Yet he still decides to make me see her coffin, her grave in the dirt.

She must pass in sleepy heads, no matter the past

Why does he plant these seeds in our gardens?

Why doesn’t he water them, and let them die in the winter?

Why doesn’t he pull the weeds?

Never mind my former request

It’s a little stormy in the garden

I will go alone

Do not lay in the garden with me today