The Holly

I hated it for being there,

as if it had always just been there,

dense and looming,

darkly shadowing our lives,

unchecked, pressing its rigid limbs into our home,

threatening the eaves, sending out shoots underground

to suddenly invade an unsuspecting grove

of conifer, laurel or rhododendron,

leaves so hostile that even in decomposition

they deposit skeleton-thorn land mines.

You loved its unshakable stability and prodigious growth,

finding comfort in the aura of its impenetrability,

shielded by a sense of privacy it provided you

and a modicum of perceived permanence.

It allowed you to exercise veto-power

when everyone else wanted it gone.

After you fell from grace,

the holly was toppled with your blessing.

I stacked its logs to cure,

gathered up leaf after horrible leaf,

clipped branches into tiny pieces

like a disgruntled lover

disposing of the body.

Andrine de la Rocha

posted 10/4/2011