Kayla Szymanski Garden of Misery

by Kayla Szymanski Garden of Misery

Grass gushes through the forbidden valley rich with sensation. Weeds are cracks of chaos that ebb and flow frantically to scuttle above the lush crust of life. I watch a dim and disinterested light travel down a dusty path.

A lamp swings through darkness ablaze like a thousand fireworks and honeycombs the valves of magnetic shards scattered carelessly across the poisoned sky. Moments sprout forward in fury to steal their purpose from the sterile dirt.

I am mesmerized as buds burst into bloom underneath the glow and rise to kiss the space above with gleaming faces. Stamens graze against the flare like moths drawn to headlights. Scorched leaves furl inward as the emerald pigments shift to a crusted and murky brown.

Stumps of once promising stems wither into barren stalks. With its deed completed, the lamp recedes from the patch. I survey the aftermath of crushed lotus petals and wrinkled dove feathers, waiting for the cycle to start anew.