i can see you staring at me
through the fence between our homes
your eyes between the picket slits
tell me you cannot let go.
it is your own creation, and
your fingers curled around its post
have anchored me into the past,
my heart in your choking hold.
like the vines that are creeping
twisting, crawling toward the sun
i can grow older, can grow up,
but i am rooted and can’t run.
each day your hold grows stronger,
though each day you’re farther gone.
and i’m stuck with shriveled vines
on the fence between our homes.