My Neighbour’s Flower Garden Is Seeded With Old Bones

Wednesday Prose Poem: the first or last line

Photo by Nicolas Ladino Silva on Unsplash

A casual glance at the snapshot reveals none of the truth—

the riotous colours paint over the grim deep cuts, the Mardi Gras of milkweed conceal the furrows seeded thickly with violence — yet — observe how the Johnny-jump-ups are the exact shade of bruises left in hidden…