Brittany Rickard

We All Are Gardens, Our Bodies The Compost

And she saw an emptiness in him,
that he had tried to fill alone.
Using a spade to mask the hole with soil,
Using his hands to plant the seeds of wit,
Using a spout to drench himself with an air of lacking care.

She was drawn to the garden he grew,
for it looked akin to her own.

For she had tried to mask the hollow with water,
Using the sea to fill the void,
Using the salt to dry her tears,
Using her heart to freeze it over.

You might say she was drawn to the emptiness in another.
A vulture feeding on prey and buried wishes,
yet this was not the case.

Perhaps she saw the beauty that comes with the people,
who raise themselves from the dead.

-Brittany Rickard