Today I pulled invasive ivy from the backyard, while my husband sat with his father in the emergency room after we received a call that he (my father-in-law) had been delivered there after fainting in church. And I had several sweet new communications via facebook, and my son and my husband powered through math in spite of setbacks. Later (with me still smelling of ivy) my husband and I talked of past and future - disappointments and resolutions relating to his father. All of which amounted to the following:
Ivy Twining
The ivy is my worthy yard opponent
It teaches me of life as I uproot it
It spreads its complicated woven networks
I comb the loam for horizontal runners
Today I planted several tender tendrils
Beginning branchings that I hope will grow
Nets that can, entwined, uphold each other
A web of trust that all of us can know
While in another branching of the family
The knotted roots of past - betrayal, anger
Pulled consequences out from distant reaches
Touched off by small deception’s ancient hold
I rip out armloads, stuff it all away
As ivy’s images creep, wily, through my day.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 6, 2011
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