Ivy fanned across the brick,
A thick green stain spilling up and out.
We each put a hand into the half-tree, half-building
And grabbed a rope of leaves.
We pulled at the roots like the cords of a stage curtain,
Like sailing lines.
Lengths of green fell like braids
Into our hands. Branches broke
Into dust, snapped like twine.
Last year I drove past the old apartment
And the ivy was there, was lush
And strong, a jungle.
I see it all that you describe in her photo. I also see a river running through her.
ReplyDeleteWho'dve thought ivy could work so well as a theme for lust and nostalgia? I like the way the dress highlights her body like some sort of x-ray.
ReplyDelete