Wisteria climbs
our old sycamore,
encircles its upper branches
to dangle long amethyst earrings,
purple candelabra.
By the base of the tree,
I hack at the vine’s thick ropes
See how Virginia creeper
chokes our garden,
its dark green counterpane,
its underground snakes
cling to the rain-soaked earth
as I tug to free
the once-flowering myrtle.
Now hot fingers of red
circle my neck
climb my face,
pink poison ivy pearls
blanket my arms, my hands
as amethyst and dark green
glisten outside my window.
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