This is my garden

Georgia O'Keeffe ~ Jimson Weed, 1932.

~ Written after walking by the chemotherapy infusion room and its garden, during a routine visit to the hospital. Which is never routine.

Was it really me, sitting on that chair? Trapped in tubes and veins.My roots and branches force-fed?

An Encased garden: my own body.

It's arboreal blood streams; it's solid bone filaments; it's expansive air ducts. It's blooming heart.

My garden!

Yes, it sat there encased in glass. Apart. Severed. Cut off. Disconnected. Alone. It did.

But THIS GARDEN.

(I pound my chest as I write this).

This Garden is again mine.

Sovereign. Private. Secret. Unviolated. Untouched.

This is MY GARDEN.

Watered. Fertilized. Nourished. Evergreen. Alive.