What if I had stayed?
We were both unhappy,
Whether we were ready
to admit it openly
there was no clover field waiting for us,
the pastoral moments having long passed—
any sweetness remaining
quickly becoming the bitters
of an unreaped harvest.
Love is not a crop that can grow on its own—
requiring constant tending to;
a delicate orchid requires the right
amount of light and moisture;
a gentle, devoted attention.
I much prefer to live any life on a hillside
feasting on clover alone than tolerating
the flavor of bitterness in dried grass.
Hay would never be enough for me.
Some can love that way;
with cubed and stacked staples—
it would have been like that if I had stayed.
You would have kept on eating bitterness,
thriving on it,
but I was already starving.
2016 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.worpress.com