by Vanessa Rose
The pumpkin looms above the clivia up and over our fence, rooted in soil that has bloomed a thousand bongs. I should push it back, gather up its desiccating leaves, its winding vine, and bundle it along the top of the palings as evidence of the neighbour’s transgression. But then I might miss the moment - the inevitable gravity of gourd. It falls without me seeing it, thudding at night into the ground irrigated by federation houses. Months later, I find it under the glossy straps of the clivia, at the tail-end of a dog rooting out a blue tongue. Pumpkin, grey-worn and wilted, what dreams did you seed in your last days, hidden from the sun? Vanessa Rose writes poetry whenever she can. She is a member of Writing NSW and is currently undertaking a poetry feedback course in Sydney Australia. When not writing, Vanessa is a researcher at a not-for-profit social purpose centre based in Australia, Singapore and the UK.
1 Comment
Cheryl
13/9/2021 06:55:26 pm
Love the contrast and the imagery that's described so vividly - the last line is my favourite
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