It's Still Life

Ivy

As if three suns shine
on me, I grow that
fast. Groping the fence,

I climb razor cuts into
the bark of trees, spread
like a summer wind,

or fire across
the coolness of soil.
Sticking to willows,

weeding up the house,
scarring brick like sin
on a soul. I’m a …

tangled Medusa.

©️ Misky 2019 – for dVerse. Written in the style of “Mushrooms” by Sylvia Plath