The Terrace Garden

by Gabrielle Mae S. Lopez

Ispend my days in the terrace garden. I spend my time sitting on the blue bench—probably stolen From the park; I sit here because I can’t walk in the park… Anymore.

I spend my weeks in the terrace garden; I sit in a daze, wondering when I’ll get to be outside again— Always one step out, one step in, I’m only ever…in between.

The plants, They’ve replaced my friends. I’ve no plans Yet to go out with them.

The cacti’s embrace is equivalent To one, two…or ten Of my lover’s. Nature’s curse.

The flowers— Lost hours. The wind, She doesn’t rescind In reminding me Of the dreams I’ve given up for this harsh reality.

She sings them to me in chimes, She lulls me to sleep with her cruel rhymes. As if my demise Makes the best bedtime stories, Though really— Well…they aren’t lies.

It’s been a year, I’m still here— I’ve spent my months in the terrace garden, Though I go out to the street every now and then… But that’s just it.

I’m no step beyond the Esperanza’s shadow. I’m no stone away from the Calathea’s show. The rosemary and mint—

Well, they’ve meant A lot to me, But I just want someone here with me…

Sitting on the blue bench, wishing we’d stolen Another moment Before a million Was stolen from us…

How many more years am I going to spend In a blue mood, on a blue bench, stolen From the park? In another life, we’ll get to walk again somewhere far. For now—

We’ll have to spend more days in this terrace garden. F

TULA