Poetry
Comments 39

A Garden Variety Hurt

I looked up what ivy was supposed to represent,

after we called the man with the poison

to clear the wooden fence panel right to the root.

This creeping plant,

that works its way between the cracks,

and closes its fist so slowly,

so quietly,

that you cannot see the brickwork break,

it’s supposed to represent friendship.

I thought about you then,

how I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself

until the moment that you cracked me clean in half.

Like ivy, you keep coming back

no matter the cold or the drought,

there is no prying those tendrils loose,

no poison that will make this shadow of you wither.

I must live with the damage you have caused.

I must somehow learn how not to crumble.

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This entry was posted in: Poetry

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Carol Forrester is a twenty-four year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

39 Comments

  1. Nice lines: “how I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself

    until the moment that you cracked me clean in half.”

  2. Wonderful, Carol! I love the back story, the imagery and the direct address – I felt completely immersed in your poem. Excellent lines:
    ‘This creeping plant,
    that works its way between the cracks,
    and closes its fist so slowly,
    so quietly,
    that you cannot see the brickwork break’
    and
    ‘…I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself
    until the moment that you cracked me clean in half’.

  3. I think this is one of my favourites of yours. That’s a terrible sentence, but you know what I mean. There’s some real menace there – that slowly closing fist, that shadow – all growing from that initial innocuous first line. It’s very well done.

    • Exactly. I’ve had a number of friendships that weren’t ‘good’ but this one broke me through no fault of anyone’s, just awful luck.

  4. Bravo Carol! This is fabulous in its raw honesty. The metaphors work so well. I imagine the ivy sneaking its way into brickwork. So insidious- this plant. Love, love, love it!

  5. Glenn Buttkus says

    Flowers can crack concrete, so your use of the broken heart is wonderful, way beyond apt. I, too, was hooked by the spooky silent fist.

    • Thank you Glenn, I’m really glad you liked it. Beauty can hide all sorts of dangers. I almost picked deadly nightshade for the prompt but ivy stuck out in a way I could resist.

  6. How brave you are and must continue to be brave not to crumble under pressure ~ I enjoyed learning about the ivy and the damage it can do ~

  7. This is a powerful piece! I especially liked the lines:
    “how I’d failed to see how deeply you’d planted yourself
    until the moment you’d cracked me clean in half.”

  8. Oh, such toxicity in any kind of relationship can be so stifling. I like how you portrayed the other face of friendship – the ivy’s stronghold should be cut off in such cases. But there’s the damage which is already caused, that makes it so sad.
    -HA

    • In this case I was actually thinking about a friend who died really suddenly. I didn’t realise how much of an impact his loss would have and I’m still picking up the pieces two years on. It could very much be interpreted to mirror those friendships that aren’t really friendships at all but acts of cruelty from one person to another.

  9. That’s ivy, alright. Looks pretty, all the while having a strangle hold. And not being that nice at all. I like the lessons here. Very nicely done.

    Pat

  10. Two summers ago, professional gardners came and literally ripped all the beautiful ivy out that covered the walls of a nearby old brick parish hall….and the outer matching brick wall that “fenced in the garden yard” of this historical building. I suppose for the very reason you mention here….that it was affecting the brick….damaging the brick. I was so glad I’d taken some photos the fall before….contrasting that gorgeous blanket of green with the red/orange leaves of the massive tree inside the yard. Now it looks like naked red brick to me. Your poem — and shifting the idea of how the individual has latched into you like ivy, is such a powerful image. Unlike the ivy wrestled and poisoned away from the walls, the shadow of this individual remains. Wonderful response to the prompt!

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