Читать книгу Pruning Burning Bushes - Sarah M. Wells - Страница 9

Angry

“He cuts off every branch in me

that bears no fruit. . .”

—John 15:2

The angry gardener sees

overgrown, untended beds

and seethes. He pulls

the waist-high weeds,

heavy in seed, and heaves

them to the compost heap.

And then the shrubs—

how they shudder

in his shadow, hand saw

pushed and pulled until

limbs quiver, surrender.

Pruners snip, his grip

is sweaty, tight, a frenzy

to the suckers, rose hips,

broken stems, spotted leaves.

The clipping never ends;

he is severe—takes away

more than one-third.

And then mulch,

fertilizer, buckets of water.

The landscape sighs,

breathes with the gardener

who stands back,

fists on hips.