Hacked Back (poem)
Hacked Back
To be a bramble, a little difficult, let one discern
Your bloom
This often said of you, in catalogues, powder blue
Your sprouted canes
No artist—not this one sitting here
Much appreciates
Stems with prickers, gets their woolen things entrapped
Their fingertips
A piece of you pushed in along a fencerow
Every post
Every post heats in the sun and hosts a vine
Junk I am
Says she, but that, as to reasons, I discount
Watercolorists don’t
Care for my sort of flower, tricky to get right
I was planted
Is what I say, for being wanted, pies, all that
The honeysuckle
Gets in thick and neither of us cares
Vagabondish
Treats, for children of the world
Not elites
Why not, bipeds, more consumptive and unique
One to one
Soft-shelled…nosey though…treading lug-soled
Boots on nature
She strews spiked and clawed things, jellies, toads
Hundred-legged
Docents of the soil the chronicler of a spring day
Spot to spot
Jerks her hand from a plumping thistledown
Spills her water pot
Hacked Back
This Game the Product
(2019, Stephanie Foster)