green fingers
plunge deep unabashed into the soil
sink into cool wetness against my tips
or caress dry resistance crumbling
turn towards the light
joy uncurls from its sheath
the green stretch of new growth
petals blossom into exclamation points
green fireworks of fenestrations
Pinch away what’s spent
dry leaves crunched into pockets
held up to brightness
bottom water till heavy and satiated
drink deep unabashed into my soul
green fingers
Thank you for the thorough read. In my poem the was referring to a stem sheath. Young leaves, twisting and turning, on many tropical plants emerge from pliable stem sheaths. I am so grateful to be read. I totally understand the misunderstanding about sword sheaths. I’m more into philodendrons than swashbucklers.
I liked this poem, had a nice flow to it. For feedback, this may be a bit pedantic, but the phrase, uncurls from its sheath, took me out of the story a bit, since sheaths are straight and stiff, you can’t really uncurl from them. I think this speaks to something larger though, and that being, making sure we are purposeful with our metaphor. I think a lot of the time we just take figurative language for granted and focus more on trying to describe something more beautifully and originally, that we forget it still has to work well on both levels.
