There was this world

my escape

but the demand for my attention was too great

fantasies nudged me awake all hours

the picturesque garden and nipping faries

and the words

they poisoned my proper shapes

in such a fantastic way

in a way hope was made toxic

And so I tilled but not for long

my pride got the best of me

for the world was much too fertile

and I confused the growth

for the jars of jam I canned through the winter.

-Saschia Johnson