The backyard wall
stands guard between me
and the cemetery
on the other side.
My garden haven
is a riot of color,
red-hot pokers stoked
like flaming swords.
The far side is devoid
of life, headstones drab
as concrete slabs
of high-rise flats;
a living death: freedom
of expression is withheld,
travel rights suppressed;
scarcities abound.
Tenacious as a border
guard’s Alsatian,
ivy sinks its vicious
teeth into the wall:
its fall will force
a regime change,
unite me with
that darker side.
This poem originally ran in the September 15, 2011 issue of the magazine.
