The garden has a swing set with elephants on them.
It is rusted and old, and the color
Is fading away.
The garden has a cherry plant that never blooms.
My grandpa swears that he saw a flower on it once;
I don’t think anyone believes him.
The garden has a dirty slide.
I used to play on it with my sister, but now I’m afraid
The dirt will stain my clothes.
There is a tree in the garden.
It was always taller than me as a child—
Taller, even, than my parents.
I would climb it, seeing how high I could go,
Weaving in and out of the branches, being reckless,
Unafraid.
Now whenever I climb the tree,
The bugs bother me,
I get soil on my hands.
I don’t want to spoil my clothes.
A couple times a month,
My grandma sends me pictures of deer
That she saw in the garden.
She sends me bible verses with them.
As a child, I envied the garden.
I begged my parents to let us move to a house with a yard.
My dream house became a house with the largest garden
Where I could plant my own flowers, have my own pets,
Build my own playground.
I wanted to be just like my grandpa
Every few summers, I visit the garden.
Nine hours on a plane is all it takes to meet my grandparents.
All my grandma talks about is the garden.
All my grandpa talks about is the new flowers they’ve planted.
I don’t envy the garden anymore, though.
I think I’d be fine with living in an apartment.
I don’t need the biggest garden or seventeen dogs.
I guess the garden in my mind was a fantasy.
Temporary.
Elisa Min is a seventh-grade student with a passion for poetry. She discovered her love for writing at a young age and enjoys exploring themes of nature, identity, and the human experience through her poetry. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading voraciously or spending time outdoors, drawing inspiration from the world around her. She is excited about the possibility of sharing her work with a wider audience.
Featured image by Lizzie on Unsplash.
