Conversations in the Garden
by Kahlanibsteele
There’s a place in the garden
that’s hidden from view.
In this space,
I can be myself,
communing with mandevillas
flapping about in the wind,
schmoozing with the twenty-eights
as if we speak the same language,
while grevilleas,
clinging to the private screen,
shield me from
the neighbour’s prying eyes.
Even the ginger cat that comes to visit
pays me no heed,
slinking past;
a stranger in a stranger’s garden.
Occasionally, it might pause
to see what I’m doing,
tail whipping,
probably wondering why
I’m talking to myself.
Published on the Writory Wall.