The woman laid herself down in a field of knotweed with a razor blade and the men came running, first the white shirt, then the red hat, then the black shoes that danced to the sirens’ screams. Help is on the way, but she looks so peaceful over in the sunlight and hot shadows. Surrendered. They never come running if you’re tenacious and strong. I know. I’ve been writhing here lonely for days, weeds growing from my heart.
Words ©2014, Jen Payne
Image: Great piece of turf study of weeds, Albrecht Durer, 1503