The Garden

In boyhood, I sought solace in a little cranny

in our garden. As we grew, the garden

became an extension of me. It was quickly

overgrown with plants that flourished out

of control. In grade six I kissed a girl with

dark little curls, named Wanda Lou.

As my life unfurled that kiss wilted in the

tall shadows of neglect. Fear of guilt over

sexual preference spawned a patch of giant

worry weeds that took over the garden.

What should I do versus what I wanted to

do, wore bare spots near the garden gate.