By alison
Date: 28 June 1998

battle cry

the seed of doubt planted in me 
has begun to grow roots. 
they're small now, 
extending outwards, 
clawing for a moist sopt. 
i reexamine every word he says, 
(water sprinkled) 
analyze every motion he makes, 
(hold fast little plant) 
skeptical. 
i wish it were 
an iris 
or a daffodil 
or god, even a carnation. 
instead, 
a spindly, leafy wire of ivy 
sprouts siblings 
(anger, bitterness) 
all around, 
forms a coalition 
and invades. 
he doesn't stand a chance 
against this army.