The neighbors kindly do not mention the raw intimacy of our bushes. The two shrub clumps were meant to mark limits, to subtly separate our yard from theirs. Then one April, the brambles fell in love. What began as a curious, innocent extension of leaves became an obsessive need to invade, to intertwine, to erase all boundaries between.
When holding the pruning shears, I did not have the heart to impose after all, just as after my son was born, I stopped pulling up dandelions and Scotch thistle by the roots. To me, they were now orphaned, willful plants who only wanted a chance to stand by something as effortlessly vibrant as a sunflower, an orchid, a rash of bright red roses.
Colleen Alles is an award winning, Michigan-based writer and librarian. To date, she has published two books of poetry through Finishing Line Press (Georgetown, KY). Her work has also appeared in numerous literary magazines. She enjoys running, baking, reading, and spending time with her kids. If you’d like to read more about Colleen, please visit my website: https://www.colleenalles.com/.