Unwanted  Roots

My fork plunges deeply

into dark gritty soil.

Muscles used to this work

lift clods and shake 

the weeds from the earth.

My strong darkened fingers

separate out unwanted roots,

thin brittle white tendrils 

of bindweed like baby’s bones,

yellow honeycombed tangles

of stinging nettle.

I straighten, hand rubbing my back

to admire clean dark soil

surrounded by newly planted 

geranium, lonicera and loosestrife.

A garden shaped by work

and love, for us to enjoy,

for his pleasure.

The gate clicks,

I turn to welcome him.

The smile freezes on my lips,

the words are not spoken.

He is not alone.

Through the blood red

autumn acer leaves

stirring in the breeze

I watch him touch her.