The Fence

September 29, 2008

there is no fence between the yards
and the weeds cross
long shaggy grass and dandelions.
both sides share a single beauty
i sit in one yard and dream of being in the other
it has to be more perfect
mostly because it is not here;
it has to be more wonderful
because i am not there;
the grass is just as green
and needs just as sorely to be cut
but i cant help the feeling left out
because i am not lying on its lawn.
soon i hate that yard
and spurn its comfort
because it was never mine.
i grow to despise the greenness of it
and so i till my plot black.
i build a fence, a terrible and high fence.
then i lean on it feeling safe
and right.
but soon enough
i am dreaming of the yards with no fence,
the ease and comfort.
and so i tear down bits of the wall
but find the neighbors
rebuilding it behind.
now the grass is greener on the other side
but only because i killed mine.