My memories of you have been
dipped in concrete and laid to rest
deep in the forest of my mind
although time and separation have
covered them in moss
and every couple years or so
weeds and vines grow through the
subtle cracks in the rock.
I was warned that memories should
be kept as a garden-
watered and pruned under a watchful eye
but I was never suited to be a gardener
so I kept you as a tombstone instead
a name and a set of dates to be
neither visited nor forgotten.
But when little things remind me of you
I feel the concrete breaking and the
flora hastening to escape
too overgrown in my absence
to ever regain control and the
tendrils threaten to grip on to my ankles
and drag me into the loamy earth below.