In My Garden of Scorpions

Soft roses~
and a thousand thorns
that prick the fingers
that tend their vanity,
adoring the beauty
of that ageless grace

I brushed back the leaves
of the seeds I buried
in the dirt and found
a scorpion sleeping
in its shade

Was it a fever dream
born of a summer's heat
when I cradled the creature
in the softness of my palms
and called it beautiful?

And did I hallucinate
when it stirred and nestled
further into my skin..

like a child seeking warmth
from a mother it never knew?

And maybe I can be a mother still
raising children of death and chitin
tending thorns, trimming, perfecting
and bearing fruits grown
from the seeds I planted in the earth

I was never a patient woman
but I can wait day and night
if it somehow brings joy
to my ugly, soiled heart

and maybe the dirt of truths
I buried from the past
can finally be laid to rest
and maybe in this garden
of scorpions and thorns
of poisons and worms..

I can know peace
at last