What if she told you a story but you soon realized, it was in your blood. Would you patiently still listen, then add a little extra, create a little wonder; some shock and awe? What if her story was more of a figment than a well placed fig leaf, would you still kneel or raise your fist; shout out, oh my lord? What if her garden was your well-tended little refuge, with an ornamental peacock sitting upon a well-appointed dividing wall.
What if a tree that never blossoms, still bears fruit long after the fall. Why keep a law that only you created when the seeded apple was yours by law. Wasn’t it much better to blame her shadow and his teasing tongue, than your hidden flaw. What if her story was more a ribbing than a rib once taken; as you began to leave and soon withdraw. Who was the other woman, was she maybe, your next door neighbor? Were you ashamed to admit it or was it just the same old story that began to gnaw? When is your garden of good and evil, a roll of the dice; or just the eventual luck of the draw.
Copyright © Martin Hanley 3/24/2014
Photograph Dina Dova