In the Garden

after Rebecca Lindenberg

You water the beds for hypericum
but my hands overflow with crocus

All day you blanket the couch with picked
petals of mullein

Every night I fill

the bed with paper rose

Sometimes I arrive

home to find

dandelion in the coffee cups & coat pockets
(typically in winter, to mimic sunrise)
which signals me to pour wine

cocoon you

in our softest blanket, nibble
the apples of your cheeks

It’s Christmas and traditionally I gift
you bindweed

This year I present venus flytrap

in a vase mended with pewter

—by New Years our tongues
have scoured new trenches

What’s crazy is we both wish
for a sun-drenched patio surrounded
by plum trees

Only my hollyhock choke

them out every year

And anyway

you always plant mint instead
Because you both desire

and are horrified

at the idea of being known
I fry flowers of acorn squash

to garnish hibiscus

ice cream served in a Delft blue bowl

If the African violet has been watered, I know
to draw the curtains

However, if the pothos

has found a new corner, I undress you, binding
your wrists with your sweater

We plan for bird of paradise,
so why do we let cabbage take so much of our time?

In garden recesses we each tend
a thicket of sage

Sage, sage

we both burn sage

Andrew Dillon’s  debut collection, The Great Permission (https://thegreatpermission.com), is the first poetry collection built exclusively for the web. His work has been published in several print & online journals (https://andrewdillonpoetry.com/links). He is a neurodivergent arospec poet living in Amsterdam.