Today's poem is by Faith Gómez Clark

Caretaker
       

For years, my body, with its brown youth
encrusted flesh and knobby knees,
was my grandmother's secret garden.

My torso erupted with wildflowers.
Bulbous chrysanthemum heads
sprung from my juvenile chest.

Daily she'd tend to me,
humming quietly to herself.
Lips, two tiny hummingbirds fluttering

in the black bush of my hair.
Her rusty-tool fingers
gently pruning away

my childish bits. Always careful
not to leave a mark.
Only her hunger

blossomed here.
Like the petaled flames
of a rose rooted in

a dying earth.

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Copyright © 2024 Faith Gómez Clark All rights reserved
from Shō Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission