Garden Gate (Keeping) - Crystal Taylor

A spindly vine has been choking out the jasmine. Its buds never unfurled, but they’ve released a perennial, cloying sweetness. Biohazards, I’ve longed to rip them out by the venous roots, and let them wither in the yellow bin—with myriad unwanted things.

If the choice were mine and the gate wasn’t so tightly kept—I’d stomp the damp remains of Fall, the awkward season in between. I’d catch pure snow on my tongue, like I did when I was a kid. I’d let it polka dot thick, black hair, before I knew of pain, or how snow burrows into unwieldy grays.

I’d spin, arms wide, defying gravity, back when feeling dizzy was a welcome rush. Like when I “borrowed” grandma’s lipstick: Cherries in the Snow. When my finger traced the calendar for holidays, instead of counting to 28.

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We will hack our path through the jasmine and its thorny vine. We will twirl into Winter with the grace of ballerinas. We will cut away the gate. Like cherries in the snow, the choice will be our own. We’ll be the ones who own our fate.

Originally appeared in Issue 15 of The Last Stanza Poetry Review, January 2024

Crystal is a neurodivergent poet and writer. She has recently broken through the garden gate, and continues to wear Cherries in the Snow lipstick. Her recent work lives in Dorothy Parker’s Ashes, Tiny Wren Lit, Rust + Moth, and other upcoming sacred spaces. Follow her on X @CrystalTaylorSA and Insta @cj_taylor_writes