By alison
Date: 28 April 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.