• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 07
Image by


My fear comes
without knocking –
unbidden, unexpected,
uninvited, unwanted –
flouncing shamelessly
through the garden gate,
past the compost pile,
and right up to my bent and toiling back,
all the while sneering derisively
at the salvaged tractor tire
I rescued from the rubbish heap
to plant a small butterfly garden in,
just to jab its meaty, mocking finger
and guffaw loudly at me,
pointing incessantly
and laughing mercilessly,
making me feel utterly terrible –
beet-red-tears-pricking ashamed
of it –
such an embarrassing sort –
for daring to visit
in front of my nosy, yenta neighbors;
of my undue concern
over other people’s judgment;
of my own vulnerability;
of my past failures;



of my inability to heal,
to overcome;
and, generally, of all that is good
and right and unique
and me.