As she sat
bent over,
in the least-smudged chair of my garden set,
my sister told of
a neighbour who styled his garden
—its stubborn hedges and out-of-average-reach trees—
with hair tweezers and nail clippers (for feet).

As she drank
her coffee,
cross clover continued to unroot the grass,
and drunk wasps circled ground-struck apricots,
while unimpeachable ivy
succeeded in suffocating the “permanent” plants
in the borders—green nooses left unseen.

As my eyes
grazed over
the playfully growing decay, I knew
she wasn’t talking about my nature
and though I already had my answer, I still asked
my sister—
‘You think the garden has something to say[?]’

– Josje Weusten