The garden, edged with wire,
a jaunty scarecrow, a bit of coyote
urine, hair shavings from a buzz cut.
Don’t call me, text me.
stop with the emojis, no more
cute animal videos.
I’m at the edge of nowhere,
on edge, waiting for silence,
flicker of senses, a sense of roots
growing underneath my feet,
threatening to expose themselves,
wrap around my ankles.
I’m afraid you will show up
with the kitchen shears
or a basket filled with bees
I’ve set a boundary to protect
the baby lettuce, a chance to grow
without withering or sunstroke--
fieldstone, sandstone, slate or granite
dragged into place, balanced
like a conversation resting on a sinkhole.
Christine B
Boundaries
by Christine B | Mar 1, 2022 | ACA Boundaries, ComLine
Submission Policy
We welcome blog submissions of articles and other content from ACA members.
To keep this blog a safe place, before submitting an article or other content please read our submission policy
Feedback
Posting of comments for others to see is disabled, but we encourage you to provide feedback by clicking on the “Submit Feedback” button below.
Search
Categories
Tags
abandonment
ABC
abuse
acceptance
art
ballot proposals
bilingual
boundaries
Conference
daddy
delegate
denial
father
fear
feelings
freedom
french
global
God
grief
healing
Higher Power
hope
Inner Child
language
literature
love
Loving Parent
meeting
pain
Poem
poetry
Powerless
Prayer
PTSD
racial trauma
recovery
reparenting
Service
shame
steps
tools
trauma
true self
violence